


ian gallagher & the latchkey kids

by AnotherGallavichLove



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Comedian!Ian, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Shameless Big Bang, Smut, slight angst, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherGallavichLove/pseuds/AnotherGallavichLove
Summary: While working on a children’s television special, comedian Ian Gallagher finds himself falling for one of the parents.There are a lot of problems with that, the main one being that he’s quite sure of the fact that said parent absolutely hates his guts - and for good reason. He desperately wants to change that, he’s just not sure how to.(Inspired by John Mulaney & the Sack Lunch Bunch.)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 64
Kudos: 238





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to clovesfanfic for stepping in and creating a [piece of art](https://www.flickr.com/photos/170068005@N07/49949861172/in/dateposted-public/) for this story at such short notice, I really appreciate it!! ([There is also a trailer](https://streamable.com/9m2okn) that I made because I was unsure what was happening with the art. It ended up working out, but I figured I would link it anyway!)
> 
> I would also like it to be known that while writing the first third of this, it was supposed to be about 50k or more, but because of ~global circumstances~ I ended up having to shorten it. If it seems fast-paced in places, that's why. (My family's okay, and I really hope that yours are, too. Sending so much love to everyone <3 Enjoy the story!)

Quiet mumbling was heard as the camera crept closer towards the small garden, clearly built on a soundstage. A smooth, concrete path led to the porch, a group of children gathered around, on benches, and in the faux grass, talking amongst themselves. On the porch, there was a man in his late twenties, arms rested on his knees, the yellow spotlight shining down onto his red hair, as he spoke to two of the children, nodding once, right before he looked at the camera, pretending he just noticed it. 

“Oh, hey - I’m Ian Gallagher. and these are the latchkey kids,” he paused for a moment before looking around, motioning towards the camera as he lowered his voice. “Guys, say hello.” 

‘ _Oh, hello!_ ’s mixed with ‘ _Hi there!_ ’s and ‘ _Welcome!_ ’s. 

“Yeah - welcome to the show, that’s good,” Ian looked at the girl, nodding, in a voice that said that they had clearly rehearsed this bit many times. “I’m gonna have to remember that, write that down, that’s good.” 

“I’m bored, can I go?” A boy asked, and Ian turned to him, though, another girl was fast to remember her own line. 

“Chase, no - the show is about to start, be quiet.” 

“Yeah, the show is about to start,” Ian agreed, before turning back to the camera, braiding his own fingers together, wrists leaning against his knees. “What you are about to watch is a children’s comedy special - and we made it on purpose. It’s a show for kids, by adults - with kids present,” he explained, gesturing to the ones gathered around him. “Recently, I was watching children’s television with my brother - who is around here somewhere, I don’t know where he went…” Ian pretended to look around. 

“He left,” a girl spoke up. 

“Oh, right - he was bored,” Ian nodded. “Can’t blame him, he’s had enough of me - we’ll find him at some point - anyway - “ he turned back to the camera. “I didn’t like this children’s television at all, but I liked it in the nineties, when I was a kid, which means it was better back then. So I made it like then. Welcome to Ian Gallagher and the Latchkey Kids.” 


	2. one

Ian sighed, running his damp hands through the strands of his hair, forcing even the stubborn hairs to lay backwards, at least for a while. Then he looked at himself in the mirror of the dimly lit bathroom, considering a cigarette before pushing the thought away, and making his way back out into the labyrinth of hallways, heading towards the sound of muffled voices. 

If you had asked Ian ten years ago whether he appreciated his childhood or not, he would have laughed in your face - but now? The truth was that without such a dark childhood, and without all of the stories he had to tell, he wouldn’t be where he was today - nowhere close. There hadn’t been a set point at which he had decided to become a comedian, it had jut kind of happened. In his teenage years, he had started joking around about things - mainly things that were so dark that there was nothing else you could do if you wanted to survive. Comedy was how he had saved himself, he supposed. And comedy was how he was helping other people, as well. It was a tiring job, but there was nothing else that he could ever see himself doing. 

“Liam, you ready to go?” Ian called as he got closer to the music. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he was tired, and all he wanted to do was drive himself and his brother back home, and order some food. They had all been working for hours - it had been the very first day in the studio, recording the songs, and the occasional voiceover that was needed. Ian had done about two specials before, and studio days were always more exhausting than days of filming, because he wasn’t used to the building, and few of the people were familiar - it was a lot to take in. And today had been even more so, since there were a group of children there, who couldn’t stop jumping around, and talking to each other. Ian liked kids, he did - a lot - otherwise, he wouldn’t be doing this children’s special. But sometimes he wondered how they had so much energy - where did they get it from? Did they each chug three monsters, and eight cups of coffee when he wasn’t looking? “Liam?” Ian made it to the recording booth, sticking his head into the control booth, catching the attention of the people who had helped them record. “Did you see my brother? Eleven, black, short hair?” 

“Ah yeah, he’s right outside with another boy,” the man motioned to the waiting hall. 

“Great - thanks for today, guys!” Ian called on the way out, leaving the dark studio for a yellow-lit entrance, with black leather sofas, polished wooden floorboards, as well as a renovated bar - which currently hosted Liam and Yevgeny. They were sitting on two barstools, happily talking to each other, each with a glass of apple juice - served with ice in a whisky glass, of course. Ian silently thanked Dan the bartender with a nod, knowing that he had stayed behind to look after the boys; he left, and Ian walked up to them. 

“Hey, Liam, it’s getting late, I thought you might want to head home? Yevgeny, is someone coming to pick you up?” Ian asked the blond boy; he was a year or two younger than Liam - possibly three or four, even - but he seemed a lot older in the way that he spoke. Which was one of the reasons why Ian had chosen him as one of the children to be in the special. 

“Yeah, my dad was gonna pick me up, but he’s late. I think mom might come instead, I don’t know,” Yevgeny shrugged, and swallowed down the last of his apple juice. Ian and Liam shared a look, and then Ian took a seat on the barstool next to his brother. 

“Did you two have fun today?” 

A good amount of time passed, with the three of them sitting there, talking to each other about something or other before somebody finally tugged on the handle to the studio. 

“That’s mom,” Yevgeny said, and Ian hurried over to unlock the door for the woman on the other side of the glass - whom he already found slightly terrifying. “Hi, mom.” The woman said something in a language that was not English - Russian? Ukrainian? - not acknowledging Ian at all as she headed towards her son, wrapping her arms around him. She mixed in a few English words with the other language - Ian caught ‘your dad’, ‘work’, and ‘my phone off’. Ian couldn’t help but feel bad for the boy. At least Ian had never been disappointed by Frank - or at the very least not since he was very young - he had never let his kids expect anything from him in the first place. 

The woman was a whirlwind, kissing her son’s cheek, and saying something else in what Ian had now decided was absolutely Russian - then she said something to Ian that might have been English, and then they were both gone, the clicking of her heels echoing down the sidewalk until the door fell closed. 

“She’s terrifying,” Liam commented, staring into the middle of nowhere. 

“Yeah,” Ian agreed. Though, at least she seemed to love her son; and maybe the dad wasn’t as bad as he seemed, though, sadly Ian was inclined to think so, as much as he would like to be proven wrong. “Let’s go home, Li,” Ian reached his arm out, waiting for Liam to get down off of the stool and get close enough for it to fall over his shoulders before they walked out into the dark. 

__________

Liam didn’t actually live in New York with Ian - as much as Ian wouldn’t mind that. Currently, he was just staying in his guest room because of the special, but it had been a couple of weeks already, and the longer his brother was living with him, the more Ian was dreading the day when he would have to go back to Chicago - for school, and because Fiona would go crazy without him. 

Until Liam had moved in with him, Ian hadn’t quite realised how much he had missed living with his siblings. He liked the conversation about their day - even if they had had the same one - he liked hearing about what ‘kids his age’ were interested in - even though he would never ask him using those words, because Liam surely had enough balls by now to call him out when he sounded as if he were from the stone age. 

Ian liked the banter as they made their way up the creaking elevator, and he liked to argue about what food they should order, as they entered his loft. He liked to see Liam’s smaller jacket, next to his own, thrown over the back of the couch. 

Ian loved his loft - red and brown brick walls, naked beams above his head, thick rugs to protect cold feet from cold concrete, old leather furniture, and large factory windows - it was his place, his apartment. But it had never quite felt like his home - not until now. 

Ian loved his family; he had missed it. 

“Call Fiona? Please?” Ian asked when Liam came out from the guest room, his jeans replaced with a pair of Ian’s old sweatpants from when he had been growing up - of course he had new clothing. All of the Gallaghers did, since Ian was making a decent amount of money now - more than decent, even. He kept a third of it for himself, if that - the rest went to Fiona and Lip to help take care of themselves and the rest of the clan. But certain things were just not meant to be thrown out.

“Only if you order the pizza with the pineapple,” Liam bargained. 

“Half?” Ian tried. 

“No, because the last time you asked them to do that, they didn’t put any pineapple on it at all,” Liam said, sounding a bit too distressed than one should be over pizza. Ian rolled his eyes, grabbing one of the throw pillows from the sofa, and hurling it across the loft, Liam easily moving out of the way before it even had a chance to hit him. 

“Fine - you make the call to Fiona, I’ll call for the pizza - with pineapple.” 

“Extra pineapple,” Liam said, taking the phone Ian had bought him into the guest room. Ian sighed, but dialled the pizzeria. 

“Yeah, hi, I want to order. A large Hawaii with thick crust,” Ian stated, pausing. “Extra pineapple.” 

__________

Ian sat off to the side, next to the director, as he watched the group of kids dance around the stage, happily singing the theme song. Since the song was already recorded, and the sound from this take wouldn’t actually be audible, they were all just kind of focusing on the choreographed dance, not bothering to sound their best. Sometimes, they would mess up, and laugh together, and the crew had tried to keep from laughing along, but at a certain point, it had been a lost cause, and soon the adults had to join in. There was something special about seeing a group of kids just… be kids - yes, they were working, but they were still allowed to be kids. 

“ _It’s Ian Gallagher, and the latchkey kids, we’re gonna have a lot of fun!_ ” 

Ian had a feeling that this special might end up being something really good, after all. 


	3. two

Ian would never have admitted this in the beginning, because he knew that when one person was nervous, it tended to spread like an epidemic - but the truth was that in the beginning, when he and his co-writers had begun working on this special, and started auditioning kids, he had been nervous. He had this vision in his head, and he knew exactly what he wanted this to be, but he hadn’t been sure that they would be able to accomplish it. 

Here they were, though - about three weeks into filming, and with every day, he got more confident. The kids were talented, and funny, and the slices of ‘finished product’ that they had so far were really good. 

Ian really liked the ‘what are you afraid of?’ interviews. They had placed the kids one by one, in front of a background that looked so similar to the one that he, himself, had been placed in front of on school picture days that it gave him flashbacks - and they had asked them that very question. ‘What are you afraid of?’ 

In theory, it sounded a bit creepy, but he wanted to know. It hadn’t been that long since he had been a child, himself, but it felt like it - and compared to these kids, he had had such a different upbringing. If you had asked him at nine years old what he was afraid of - well, he couldn’t promise that he would have told the truth, but if he had told the truth, it would have been something along the lines of ‘ _I’m afraid that my sister won’t be able to pay the rent, and we’ll go into foster care. I’m afraid that we’ll starve because our father doesn’t care about us, and our sister does everything she possibly can, but sometimes she can’t get food._ ’ 

So kids from New York, in the twenty first century, what were they afraid of? 

Some said tarantulas, some said snakes, some said heights. One girl said she was afraid of her parents splitting up, and another boy explained he was afraid of drowning. Liam said he was afraid of losing his family - adorable little shit. Then, there was Yevgeny. 

“What are you afraid of, Yevgeny?” 

“What am I afraid of?” The little boy asked, bright blue eyes looking straight into the camera. Ian gave him an encouraging nod, a few other members of the crew doing the same. 

“I guess… I’m afraid of losing my dad.” 

“How do you mean?” Alexa - the director - asked softly. Ian tended to let her take over when one of the kids seemed a little bit nervous, or unsure; with long, blonde hair, and deep brown eyes, there was somehow an aura of kindness around her. 

“Well, I love my mom a lot. But I love my dad, too, but sometimes he says he’s gonna do something, like pick me up, and then my mom has to do it. Sometimes, I hear my mom yelling at him and she tells him he’s a bad dad. But I don’t think so. He’s really nice to me, and that’s what I’m afraid of. That my mom is gonna yell at him so much he won’t wanna be around anymore.” 

Ian’s heart broke at the earnest sound of his voice, and the plain look in his eyes. Ian’s eyes met Alexa’s; they both knew they couldn’t put that in the special - not all of it. That didn’t make the confession any less heartbreaking. 

__________

Three or four days after they had filmed those interviews, Ian had kind of forgot about it. They all had a lot to do, a lot to write, and re-write, a lot to shoot, a lot to edit - all of it; and he liked to be involved in it all, if he could. Liam was more than allowed to follow Ian around the soundstage, and into the offices, but since he tended to run around a lot, his brother seemed to prefer waiting in a single place for the hour or so Ian stuck around after filming was over. 

Usually, it was nothing - they would all say goodbye to each other, Ian would do whatever he needed to finish up doing, talk to whoever he needed to talk to, and then he would come back, and Liam would just be waiting, playing a game on his phone, not bothered in the slightest. 

One day was a little bit different, though - Ian was heading back towards the main part of the soundstage - where they had the faux garden, and faux streets built up. It was a bit bizarre to walk through the faux streets and other sets that were built up; they were more or less the same size as a small street in the real world would be, but there was no effort put in to make it look real - Ian hadn’t wanted it that way. Part of the charm that he remembered from the nineties and early two thousands was that a lot of these sets were so clearly set inside a studio - he liked that, somehow. 

Ian found Liam sitting on one of the faux stone steps on a street, in front of what was supposed to look like some kind of shopfront. Though, he wasn’t alone - Yevgeny was next to him, and they were both looking at something on Liam’s phone. Ian wanted to groan at the realisation that Yevgeny was still there - not because of him, of course - but because of his parents. One time was fine, but it had happened once before - that his mother had come to pick him up too late - and along with Yevgeny’s answer when they had asked him what he was afraid of? Ian was struggling. He shouldn’t say anything to anybody, it was none of his business. He knew that. Yet he could feel his blood heating up. 

“Hey, guys - what are you looking at?” Ian asked, a friendly smile on his face as he took a seat, putting Liam in between the two. Liam started to answer his question, but he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps at the end of the faux street. 

“Dad!” Yevgeny shouted happily, getting up and running past the array of doors and windows that led nowhere before he made it to his dad, who caught him, and wrapped him up in his arms, rocking him slightly from side to side. “You’re here!” The two were still hugging, and the boys’ voice was muffled by his father’s jacket, but Ian caught the words. He knew it was a private moment - he would wonder what was wrong with someone if they stared at him and Liam hugging - but he couldn’t stop. The way that he had heard Yevgeny’s mother talk about his father, combined with Yevgeny’s clear disappointment - it had all painted a picture in Ian’s head of this guy being someone who didn’t care. Someone in a suit who cared more about his work, about money, than his child, but the way that he was hugging him… he wasn’t sure anymore. He seemed genuinely happy to see his son. “Am I spending the whole weekend with you?” Yevgeny asked his dad when he had put him back down. 

“Of course we got the whole weekend, kiddo,” his dad ruffled his hair, a bright smile on his face. 

Without Ian noticing, he and Liam had gotten up, and slowly moved closer to the two - not necessarily closer to Yevgeny and his dad, more so closer to the only exit of the soundstage now that they could leave, but the end result was the same. 

“Liam, could you take Yevgeny?” Ian hadn’t had enough time to think the words over before they were out of his mouth. He shouldn’t stick his nose where it didn’t belong, this was none of his business, truly - he knew that. “I wanna talk to his dad, just for a second.” There was no going back now, though. 

Liam shrugged; Ian didn’t look Yevgeny’s dad in the face, but he could tell by the sound of his voice when he told his son ‘be out in a sec’ that he was confused. Ian didn’t blame him. Liam and Yevgeny disappeared out into the hallway, and Ian met the man’s eyes for the first time. 

Oh shit. Fuck. No. 

Ian couldn’t let himself be distracted by a pretty face. He needed to say this. Despite how blue his eyes were, or the shade of pink the cold had left on his pale cheeks, or how thick his lips - Ian needed to say this, he couldn’t let himself be distracted. 

“I’m Ian,” he shook himself out of it, thankfully before the silence had stretched on for long enough that it would become awkward. 

“Yeah, I know,” Mickey shook his hand, a slight smile on his face - not necessarily a polite smile, more a smile that translated into ‘You okay, man? What’s going on? I’m confused.’ “Mickey. What’s up? Kid do something?” 

Ian tried not to miss the heat of his palm against his own when they let go of each other. This was not the time. Not. the. time. Mickey’s eyes were blue. The same shade of blue as Yevgeny’s had been when he had looked into the camera and explained how sad his dad made him. 

“No,” Ian shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, unsure of what else to do with his hands. “No, Yevgeny’s a great kid, I think he’s becoming friends with my brother,” he nodded towards the door the two had disappeared through. “I just noticed something, and it’s not my place to say, but I just… I noticed that there have been a few times that he thought you were gonna pick him up, and you didn’t - “

“Okay, you know what?” Mickey’s veil of politeness was quickly shredded into nothing as he backed away, shaking his head, dark eyebrows raising further up his forehead than they should be able to go. “You gonna lecture me about how to raise my kid? I don’t need that shit right now, you ain’t his dad, you ain’t his uncle - hell, you ain’t even his teacher - “

“No, no - please, wait - “ Ian found himself calling out, placing a hand on Mickey’s shoulder before he could stop himself. Mickey turned around and looked down at his hand, and then up at Ian, before down again - the look a cat gives you right before they scratch your face off. “Sorry,” Ian said, taking his hand back. “I didn’t mean - that didn’t come out - okay…” He sighed. “We did something the other day, we asked the kids what they were afraid of, and Yevgeny said that he was afraid to lose you. I guess, I mean, I don’t know anything about you or your wife, or what kind of parents you are - “

“Svetlana’s fine. Ain’t my wife.”

“Svetlana, sorry,” Ian nodded, desperately searching for a way out of the hole he had just dug himself. “He just said a lot of things about how much he loved you, and how his mom gets angry with you when you don’t pick him up - but it all led to him being afraid to lose you. So I guess… I had a picture of you… being this person who doesn’t care about his son, and I was gonna say something about it, but - “

“You think ‘cause I can’t pick the kid up all the time that means I don’t care?” Mickey’s eyebrows made their way up his forehead again. Ian’s mouth dried out, empty of words and saliva alike. 

“Well - no, I think now that I met you - “

“Look, man…” Mickey shook his head, starting to back away; he had a smile on his face again, but just like the last one, it wasn’t one of politeness, or kindness. This time, it was a smile that said ‘I can’t fucking believe this guy.’ One of his hands made its way up to his temple, and he used his index finger to scratch it. Ian saw flashes of inked letters on his knuckles, but he wasn’t fast enough to read what it said. “I don’t know what kind of world you live in,” he said, gesturing to Ian as he stressed the word ‘you’. “Or what kind of world my bitch of a baby mama lives in, but if I ain’t with my kid, I’m working, okay? I know I ain’t eligible for the parent of the year award or whatever the fuck, but I do what I can. I spend my days under cars, and bent over hoods, just barely making enough money to put a roof over that kids head, and food in his stomach - and I’m happy to do that shit, you won’t ever hear me complain, ‘cause I love that boy more than anything else. I know I disappoint him…” Mickey took a break, looking around the faux street. “But my entire life revolves around making sure that kid has a better childhood than I did, and I want it that way. He’s the most important thing in my life, and I wouldn’t want it any other way - but you know what I don’t need?” Mickey asked, voice lowering, as he took a few steps closer to Ian. He was shorter than Ian - a fair amount shorter, yet Ian could feel himself wanting to cower. He had been so wrong. He shouldn’t have said anything. God, why did he have to open his big, fat mouth all the time? “I sure as fuck don’t need people like you, judging me. Not all of us go home to swim in a pool of liquid gold, yeah? Get your head out of your ass.” 

Ian thought that he would say something else after that, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood in front of Ian, eyes burrowing into his, tension so thick in between them you could slice it with a knife. In fact, if he had sliced Ian with an actual knife right then and there, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Mickey was angry - and he had all the right in the world to be.

Ian broke the eye contact, looking down at his own sneakers. 

“It’s just water,” he mumbled, before lifting his head back up, just in time to see the anger on Mickey’s face fade slightly, as his eyebrows raised in confusion. “The pool,” Ian clarified. “It’s just water, it’s not liquid gold. I think it would burn.” Mickey swallowed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he looked away from Ian, rolling his eyes. If Ian didn’t know better, he would wonder whether he was fighting a smile. “I’m sorry,” Ian said, then, causing Mickey to re-establish the eye contact. “You’re right - completely. I was wrong. I don’t know you, I shouldn’t have assumed anything. You sound like a good dad.” It was the truth - if Mickey was telling the truth, but Ian couldn’t bring himself to believe that he wasn’t. Not after that speech.

“Yeah…” Mickey nodded slowly, starting to back away. Now, as the anger and tension seemed to have melted away, for the most part, Ian was reminded of how fucking attractive this man was. Especially as he backed a few more steps, and he got a better look at his body - Ian wasn’t obvious about his looking - but he absolutely did look. He noticed the light-washed, tight jeans, and the black combat boots. The worn-out leather jacket was a little bit too large for him, and combined with the way that the overhead lights sat in the ceiling, Ian couldn’t see his ass, but if those thighs were any indicator… Fuck. “Just uh… don’t do that shit again, yeah? Not to anyone, it’s a fucking dick move,” Mickey brought his attention back to his face, and Ian hoped that he hadn’t noticed him checking him out. It didn’t seem like it. 

“I won’t.” 

Mickey left, and when the door fell closed behind him, Ian sighed, sinking down onto the concrete floor in the middle of the faux street, running his hands through his hair. The door opened back up, and Liam stuck his head in. 

“Are we leaving or what? It’s almost ten, all the good Chinese places are closing.” Ian groaned, mumbling something vaguely resembling ‘in a minute.’ Liam sighed, walking over to him. 

“You messed up good, huh?” Ian grunted. 

“I’m such a fucking idiot, Liam,” Ian sighed, falling backwards, staring up at the metal beams and overhead lights - most of which were turned off, thank god, or they would be burning his retinas right about now. “He hates me.”

“Who cares?” Liam asked, laying down next to his brother. “You won’t see him much.” Ian made another noise, somewhere in between a sigh, a grunt, and a whine. “Oh,” Liam immediately understood. 

If you summed up all of the hours that Liam had spent one-on-one with each of his siblings, Ian would not be the largest number, but somehow they had a relationship that he didn’t have with anyone else. Ian wasn’t his favourite sibling - he didn’t have one - but he was the one that he connected with the most since becoming a little bit older. They were friends - brothers, of course, and they had a significant age difference, so there were things Ian would never talk to Liam about - but at the end of the day, they were friends - good friends. 

“Come on,” Liam got up on his feet, reaching for Ian’s hand to tug him up from the floor. “Let’s get Chinese food and get your mind off the hot dad.” 


	4. three

Hours after he had sent Liam to bed, Ian still couldn’t sleep; he had spent way longer than he would ever admit, laying in the middle of his large bed, staring up at the ceiling beams, not even able to convince himself to close his eyes and try. Eventually, he had given up, and walked over to the fence that looked over the rest of the loft, seeing his living-room and kitchen covered in the dim moonlight that slipped in through the large windows. He ran a hand over his hair, and sat down at the top of the industrial staircase. 

It wasn’t much of a mystery. This was what he did. He thought about things too much, overthought them until they were a pile of mush inside of his head. He worried. Worried, and worried, until he forgot how to do anything else. It usually came around this time while working on a project. The first few weeks were always filled with so much energy, and technicalities, but at this point, they were all knee-deep, everyone knew what to do - and that was a good thing - but it also meant that there was no backing out anymore. Ian always worried about what people would think - would this special be as funny as he hoped it would be? 

And then, of course - there was one other thing. Mickey. Ian didn’t upset people a lot - he tended to be decently careful with his words, at least these days - so when he did upset someone - it hurt. He hated himself for it - and this one was bad. Really bad. Not only because he found himself attracted to the man he had offended, but because he had come off as some rich punk who expected everything to be perfect all the time. That wasn’t who he was. That wasn’t who he would ever want to become. 

__________

“You don’t have any kids?” The question came from one of the girls about a week later, while everyone working on the special were sat on the soundstage - away from the expensive sets - eating pizza for lunch. Ian always bought food for the kids, and the crew, but it wasn’t always pizza, so of course the group had cheered when it had been suggested, and Ian had agreed. It was Friday, after all. 

“No, no I don’t,” Ian shook his head before chewing another bite. 

“But you want them?” Another boy asked, while a third chimed in with; “You like hanging out with us, right?” 

“Sure, I want kids one day,” Ian agreed after swallowing the pizza. This was one of the stranger things that he had discovered since he had started working on this special - these kids were kids, of course, but a lot of them were so smart, and had such clever things to say, that some of the conversations were the same conversations he would have with someone in their teens, or older. He found himself wondering if these particular kids had been forced to grow up faster since being in the industry, or perhaps most kids were like this. Ian hadn’t been around kids in a long time - other than Liam, but he didn’t quite count that, if he was honest. Liam had always had an old soul. “I like hanging out with you guys, you’re cool,” he continued, then. “I don’t know if I’m old enough yet to have my own kid, though.”

“Aren’t you like forty?” The first girl scrunched her nose, and Ian laughed. 

“I’m barely twenty seven, thank you very much. And I would like to be married - you don’t have to be married,” he was sure to add, ignoring the way Alexa was stuffing pizza into her face to keep from laughing at the way he was struggling to balance in between having a conversation that met them on the mature level they were actually speaking at, while not forgetting that they were kids. “But I want to be.” 

“So why are you not married?” Yevgeny spoke up, and Ian shook his head. 

“I haven’t met the right person,” Ian guessed. 

“So what happens if you marry the wrong person?” 

“You know what?” Alexa stood up, swallowing down the last of her lunch; Ian shot her a grateful look. “I think it’s time we get going - how about we start filming the candy store skit?”

__________

“Tough day?” Liam asked, as he pulled out an unlabelled bottle, and topped off the whiskey tumbler in front of Ian. The camera, which had started at the end of the bar slowly moved closer to the comedian, and his brother, who was dressed as a bartender, and was visibly on his knees, on a stool in order to be tall enough. 

“You could say that - hey, is this apple juice?” Ian asked, the camera coming to a stop, showing them from the side in the dimly lit bar. 

“Yeah. I’m eleven,” Liam immediately confirmed, his face completely straight. Ian had to fight not to crack, but a few of the other kids, who were standing off to the side laughed silently into their hands. 

“Oh. So you’re not a bartender?”

“No, I just come here to hang out sometimes,” Liam said, filling up his own tumbler with the juice, swallowing it all in one go, before placing it down onto the counter as if he had just swallowed a shot. “You don’t have to talk to me about what’s bothering you, but in retrospect, most things usually work out,” Liam continued then, filling his own glass again. 

“Do you feel you’re old enough for retrospect?” 

“I don’t know, I just heard it somewhere and I used it,” Liam shrugged; Ian hummed. 

“That’s good. You learn that way. So if you’re not a bartender, what do you do? Go to school?” Ian questioned. 

“Yeah, sometimes. I like to watch stand-up comedy.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ian asked, a small smile growing on his face. “What comedians are the funniest?” 

“I really like Michelle Buteau, Chelsea Peretti’s funny, too. Donald Glover. I think that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Ian asked, seemingly disappointed. 

“That’s it.” 

“I thought your brother was a comedian.”

“Yeah, but you asked for funny comedians,” Liam shrugged.

“That’s fair.” 

“Alright - cut!” 

With Alexa’s voice as cue, Ian and Liam, along with the people off-camera all broke out into laughter, several high fives being shared, along with the brothers sharing a hug. 

__________

The first time that Ian saw Mickey after he had made a complete ass of himself was about a week later - give or take; he wasn’t expecting it, as majority of the kids hadn’t been picked up yet, and he was one of the first parents to show up. That thought alone made Ian want to bash his head against a wall - what was wrong with him? Why did he have to assume that this guy would always show up late, just because he had happened to once or twice? Fuck. He felt like such a jerk. 

The kids were with Alexa and a few other crew members in the next room, as Ian spoke to one of the sound guys, going over some things for the next shooting day; that was when he saw Mickey walking in through the door, and he excused himself, heading over towards him. 

“Not early ‘cause you tore me a new one, boss just let me go early,” was the first thing Mickey said. Ian sighed. 

“I wasn’t gonna say anything about that.” Mickey raised his eyebrows. 

The last time that Ian had seen him, it had been late, and therefor, most of the bright lights in the ceiling had been turned off, but now they were on - several, bright, fluorescent lights that should make anybody look like the worst version of themselves. So how come Ian was even more attracted to Mickey than he had been a week ago? 

“I was just gonna say hi,” Ian continued then, nodding to one of the guys behind Mickey, who held up a shadowbox, silently asking if that was the kind he would like to use. Mickey turned around to see what was going on before turning back. 

“Aight, well - you know when my kid’s gonna be out?” Mickey questioned, seemingly completely uninterested in Ian and his meaningless attempts at conversing. Ian didn’t blame him. He was usually decent at charming people - in different ways, too - he usually knew how to flirt, how to become friends with someone, how to get kids to like him, all of that - but this was new. Perhaps because he had never really liked someone this much from the get-go before. 

“Should be about five,” Ian answered, to which Mickey nodded, starting to walk around him. “Wait - “Ian called, the volume of his voice just a bit louder than it should have been; he turned around to face Mickey. “I’m really sorry - again, for what I said.”

“You already apologised, pumpkin head. That hair colour seeping into your brain, affecting your memory?” Ian had to laugh at that - it wasn’t loud enough that it caught anybody else’s attention, but the sound lasted enough for him to have to tip his head backwards somewhat. When he looked back, it seemed as if Mickey was fighting his own smile. 

“No, no - I just uh… wanted to make sure, you know? I’m not… that person. I’ve been feeling like shit all week.” 

“No shit?” 

“Yeah, yeah - I mean - “

“Dad!” Yevgeny came up behind Mickey, and jumped up onto his back, startling them both as he wrapped his little arms around Mickey’s neck. For a few seconds too long, Ian was enthralled by the pure happiness that came upon the man’s face as he greeted his son, pressing a kiss to the top of his head when he had jumped off of his back. He wondered whether he had ever, in his entire life, seen a parent who got so much joy from seeing their child; it was beautiful. 

“Ian, can Yevgeny come and have taco night with us?” Liam asked, at which Ian paused, looking down at him. For a second, he wondered whether he was scheming in order to get Ian closer to the man he had a clear crush on, but then he realised that for as smart as Liam was, he was still just an eleven year old boy, and he was just purely trying to find a way to spend more time with his new friend. 

“Yeah, dad, Liam says they do it every Friday night, can I go?!” Yevgeny asked, small hands softly hitting his dad’s waist and stomach, as if trying to catch the attention he already had. Mickey sighed, and his eyes met Ian’s - Ian’s reply was simple. Of course Yevgeny could come over and have tacos with them, but he didn’t want to say yes and make Mickey be the bad guy if he for some reason had a different answer. He ended up giving Mickey a small shrug, hopefully intelligible by anyone shorter than four feet. 

“As long as it’s okay with Ian,” Mickey ended up saying, looking back down at Yevgeny. “Yeah, you can go. Just uh…” he looked up again. “Your number? Text me where I’m supposed to pick him up?” 

“Of course,” Ian said, quickly accepting Mickey’s phone, and adding his number in, before texting himself. As he handed the phone back, Mickey got a glimpse of Ian’s screen, and the contact name that he had put in. Mouse. 

“Fuck you, man,” Mickey sighed, though there was a clear hint of amusement within his tone. 

“You got anything to do tonight, by the way? I mean, you can come, too,” Ian found himself saying, before he could think better of it. Liam and Yevgeny had disappeared into their own conversation, not paying the adults any mind, so when Ian opened his mouth again, there was nobody to save Mickey from having to answer. “If you want, no pressure.” 

Mickey opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was simply something in between a sigh, and a grunt - not as if he was annoyed with Ian’s question, but as if he couldn’t make up his mind. One of his hands left his son’s shoulder so that he could use his index finger to scratch his temple. 

“What the hell,” Mickey finally agreed. “Free dinner, right?” 

“That’s the spirit,” Ian mocked, before the two shared a weak smile, Mickey rolling his eyes. 

__________

They had to take separate cars to Ian’s place, of course, and as soon as they entered the elevator, Ian was appreciative for that fact, because the tension was palpable. It wasn’t a sexual tension - there were two kids next to them, wrapped up in their own conversation - and perhaps Ian was the only one even sensing anything. There was as if there was a forcefield in between him and Mickey - he could vaguely remember the way that it had felt to have a crush in middle school - when you felt awkward around the person, and you felt as if you couldn’t look at them, or get too close, because you would explode. That was how he felt, except much stronger. It was childish, and stupid, and he thought that he had grown up since middle school, but perhaps that had simply been a wish. 

“Here we are,” Ian found himself explaining when the elevator stopped, and he pushed loud, gangly, metal door of the elevator open. Here we are. Of course here they were, they were on the top floor, where else would they be? He was such a blubbering idiot. Fuck. He walked ahead of everyone else, and while unlocking the sliding door to the loft, he took the opportunity to make a face, silently cursing himself for how he was acting. 

A part of him hoped that Yevgeny and Liam would stick around and ease the tension, but as soon as Ian got the door open, they ran inside, disappearing into Liam’s room, leaving Ian and Mickey alone for now. So much for easing the tension. 

“You can just uh - put your jacket right here,” Ian continued to let the awful, unnecessary words come out of his mouth as he threw his own jacket over the back of the sofa, motioning for Mickey to do the same. Then Ian turned to him. “You want a beer?” 

“A fucking beer would be great, yeah,” Mickey nodded, and as they went over to the kitchen area of the mostly open loft, and Ian opened two bottles of beer for them, he thought that maybe - perhaps - the rough tension was easing every so slightly. “Good to know you don’t get the fancy shit, it’s pure bathwater.” Mickey commented, looking down at the bottle of beer after taking a swing. 

Ian laughed, starting to take the ingredients for the tacos out of the fridge, figuring that he might as well start cooking; doing something while talking would probably help, as well. 

“Yeah, force of habit, you know,” he shrugged. “Didn’t grow up with money, don’t like to spend a ton.” 

“No shit?” Mickey asked. “Figured you grew up in the suburbs or some shit.” Ian laughed some more, unable to help himself. There was something about the way that Mickey spoke that amused him - the laughter wasn’t at him, and perhaps amused wasn’t even the right word. It was more as if Mickey’s voice… made him… calm, happy. Or something like that. 

“No, Chicago. Canaryville,” Ian replied with his back turned, the gas stove clicking as he turned it on, pouring some oil into the pan before turning back around. 

“No fucking shit. You’re south side?” Mickey asked, eyebrows raised. Ian nodded once.

“And the fact that you didn’t know that makes me realise you haven’t watched much of my material. I’m very hurt.” The look on Ian’s face told Mickey that he was anything but hurt; in fact, Ian was struggling not to let his smile get way too large. He should keep it simple, polite. If his cheeks begun aching as they wanted to, he may scare him off. “Take it you’re south side, too?” Mickey nodded at that, taking another swallow from his beer. 

“I remember the Gallaghers - don’t remember you, though - wait. Unless you’re that skinny ginger kid with a bowl cut?” 

“It wasn’t a bowl cut, I had bangs.” 

“You ain’t helping,” Mickey laughed into his beer. Ian tipped the meat into the pan, the sizzling noise causing him to back away for a moment before it calmed down, and he could begin breaking it up. 

While Ian cooked, Mickey stayed on the barstool by the kitchen island, and the tension that was previously there was nowhere to be found. In fact, they got along really well - better than Ian would have ever dared to hope. Granted, Mickey didn’t seem extremely comfortable talking about himself, as his responses to Ian’s questions were mainly limited to a word or two, but he asked Ian about is career, and how he got to where he was - stories from the old neighbourhood, all of that. By the time that they moved the sauces from the jars - because even Ian wouldn’t make guacamole from scratch, fuck that; he was a white boy after all, thank you very much - into bowls, and it was time to call Liam and Yevgeny into the kitchen, things felt oddly… normal, and calm. As if Ian and Mickey had been friends for years. Or at the very least months. 

Ian and Mickey continued their random, light conversation topics, and occasionally, one of the boys would chime in, but for the most part, Liam and Yevgeny talked amongst themselves. 

__________

Mickey and Yevgeny left not too soon after dinner, saying something about the boys’ mother not wanting his dad to keep him out too late. As much as Ian was enjoying his time with Mickey and the boys, the truth was that when he closed the loft door behind them, he was relieved. Any longer, and he would have fallen victim to his own clumsy tongue, no doubt. That was the last thing he wanted to do. 

Of course he still found Mickey attractive, but it was more than that - he had a feeling that Mickey could become a friend. And until now, he hadn’t quite realised how much he wanted one of those. 


	5. four

Ian didn’t smoke anymore. He certainly didn’t smoke in a professional environment. Yet there he was, sitting on the porch, looking over the faux garden built up around himself, as he breathed in the taste of the nicotine, letting it enter his lungs, calming him. 

“Is it helping?” Alexa’s voice carried a tone that said she already knew the answer to that question. As much as Ian told himself smoking did calm him down, as many times as he lied to himself, it would always be a lie. Nicotine didn’t calm him, it made him even more nervous, and fidgety. 

He looked up to see her walking across the soundstage, her echoing steps decreasing in volume when she reaches the softer ‘stones’ of the pathway. Finally, she sat down with a sigh, stealing the cigarette from his hand. 

“You’re doing good - they’re doing good.” She said, then, handing it back. Neither of them looked at each other; instead they stared out over the faux buildings, and cranes, and shadowboxes. Somewhere, a few walls away, there was the sound of the children singing - Ian had muttered an excuse under his breath, and walked away - he just needed three minutes; five, possibly. Otherwise, he would end up having a panic attack, and the last thing he wanted was for the kids to see that. “Hey - look at me.” Ian sighed, obeying the words, and the hand on his shoulder; turning to face her, looking into the deep, kind eyes. A strand of the shoulder-length blonde hair fell in front of her face, and she took her hand off of his shoulder to tuck it behind her ear as she shrugged. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he said immediately. It was the truth. “I’m always nervous around this time.” 

“Not like this, you’ve been nervous for weeks,” she pointed out, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. She was right. They only had about two weeks left of shooting, and Ian usually did get nervous at this point, but not like this.

“I guess it’s the kids - usually I’m the face of everything, if people hate it, that’s on me - and I mean, if people hate this, that’s on me, too. The kids are so good. I just hope they don’t feel like they failed.” It was a feeling he was all to familiar with, growing up. Feeling like a failure.

“Ian,” Alexa sighed his name in amusement, shaking her head. “First of all, these kids are actors and singers, they’re not kids we picked up off the street - they know how to deal with things. But second of all - what makes you think people aren’t gonna like this special? It’s funny, and it’s full of nostalgia, and warmth,” she shrugged. “It’s gonna be a success. I promise.” 

Ian sighed, taking a beat before finally nodding. 

“You’re right. Thanks.” 

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m trying.” 

“Yeah,” Alexa nodded. “Come on, let’s stop slacking off. I left Bobby manning the camera, he’s the worst of my guys.” Ian managed a chuckle as she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, tugging him up. 

__________

Svetlana was one of the most terrifying people that Ian had ever met in his entire life. And honestly? It was quite an achievement on her part, considering where he had grown up. She was a decent few inches shorter than him, but with the monster heels she wore, and the large coat, she reminded him of Cruella De Vil - it wasn’t a fur coat, and he had no opinion about whether she was a bad person or not - honestly she didn’t seem like a bad person, just very Russian - but the point was that the way that she carried herself made him want to shrink. Once again - admirable, honestly. 

“You are Gallagher? Ian?” Ian was going over a few things with some of the crew members one morning when he heard her voice from behind him. He turned around, hoping that the way he straightened his shoulders and raised his chin wasn’t noticeable. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he managed. 

“I need favour,” she continued, then, hands tucked deep into her coat pockets. She was actually very pretty - besides the coat the heels, she didn’t look villainous at all. There was minimal makeup on her face, and her shoulder-length brown hair was softly curled. But her accent, and the way she walked around like she had three different mafia bosses on speed dial made up for the rest of it. 

“Okay, what can I do for you?” He asked, knowing that she was speaking like a waiter, or a retail worker, but he couldn’t help it. Besides - he was at work, and her son was one of his actors. He had to sound professional, despite how scared he was - well, decently rattled, at least. 

“Yevgeny like your Liam, they are friends, yes? Mikhailo and Yevgeny had dinner with you last Friday?” Ian nodded. 

“Yeah, the boys get along great.” 

“Good. I am very busy, Mikhailo very busy - Yevgeny need to go home with Liam tomorrow, for a few hours until one of us can get off work, yes?” 

“Oh, you need me to watch Yev?” Ian frowned in surprise - he honestly was not sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn’t been something so… normal? “Of course, yeah, no problem. Like I said, they get along great. It’ll be good for Liam to hang out with a friend for a while,” he nodded again. 

Svetlana thanked him - which Ian was slightly surprised by, which in turn made him feel a bit bad - and then she turned around, and walked away, leaving Ian to return to his conversation with the crew member. 

__________

Later that night, Ian and Liam were spread out across the sofa in the loft, neither of the brothers flinching in the least when the large television screen displayed the violent images of the zombies being beheaded. Although Ian did jump slightly when Liam’s phone started to ring, vibrating against the coffee table, tearing them both out of the fictional bubble. 

Ian sighed, reaching for the remote and pausing the episode. 

“She’s gonna ask what we’re doing - you’re not telling her I’m letting you watch this shit,” Ian warned, handing his brother the phone, their older sister’s name spelled out across the screen. Liam mumbled something that sounded vaguely like ‘Obviously. I’m not an idiot.’ Then he got up and went into the room he was staying in to take the call. 

In order to have something to do for the five or ten minutes before Fiona would let Liam go, Ian picked his own phone up, noticing that he had a missed text message on the screen. He tried not to let the corner of his mouth twitch - really, he did - but it was a lost cause. At least me did manage not to let it turn into a smile as he stared down at the words. 

**Mouse:** _Thanks for agreeing to babysit, but you didn’t have to do that. Told Lana not to bother you about it._

Ian sighed, typing out a few different messages before finally settling on one that seemed neutral enough. 

**Ian:** _It’s really okay, didn’t have anything better to do, and he gets along with Liam anyway._

Ian paused, watching the blue line grow until the sound signified that the message was sent. Then he dug his teeth into his bottom lip, frowning slightly as he considered adding something. Perhaps it was best not to - but then his fingers moved, pressing send before he could talk himself out of it. 

**Ian:** _Not like I could say no anyway. One of his parents scare me half to death, and I like to think the other one’s my friend._

**Mouse:** _Friend? You and Lana got close, huh?_

**Ian:** _Fuck you_

**Mouse:** _Fuck you right back_

Ian put his phone down after that, not wanting to ruin the banter by saying anything stupid, but even as Liam came back into the room, and they pressed play on the horribly violent and grotesque television show, he was struggling to keep his smile under wraps. 

__________

For most of the kids, the next day entailed a lot of dancing, and remembering lines - Liam and Yevgeny especially, so by the time that Ian brought the boys home to the loft, they both landed on the sofa, scrolling through Netflix. 

Since it was Friday, Ian took it upon himself to take the ingredients from the fridge, and switch the stove on, starting to prepare the tacos. Just as he dumped the meat into the pan, his phone started to ring, and he picked it up, turning the heat down as he moved the spatula around. 

“ _Sorry, bad time?_ ” Fiona’s cheerful voice asked on the other line, clearly hearing the unmistakable sound of food cooking. 

“No, no, I can talk. Just making dinner for Liam and Yev.” Liam had told Fiona about his new friend, and Ian had asked her if she remembered Mickey Milkovich - she had informed him that she did, but only vaguely. 

“ _They still getting along?_ ” Ian could hear very similar sounds coming from her end of the line, indicating that she was making something to eat as well. 

“Yeah, everything’s great,” Ian said enthusiastically. He knew that she was happy Liam had found a friend in New York - he didn’t have a lot of them back in Chicago. Not because people didn’t like him, he was charming, and people enjoyed his company just fine - both children, and adults. But the Gallaghers had never really been the kind of people to form strong friendships - often they stuck to each other. Even with Ian’s money moving them out of the south side, and into a decent house, that mentality hadn’t quite changed. 

“ _Hey, guess what? We got the plane tickets!_ ” Fiona changed the subject, then, and Ian found himself sighing. 

“Fi, I was gonna buy you the tickets,” he shook his head, turning the fan on above the stove to waft way some of the steam coming off of the browning meat. “I’ll pay you back.” 

“ _The only reason we have the money is because you send it to us, you’re still paying for it,_ ” Fiona argued. 

“Well, that’s money for rent. Food, and shit. You’re only flying out to watch my premiere, of course I’m paying for your plane tickets, you’re not winning this fucking argument,” Ian’s voice grew slightly more stern. “How much?” 

“ _Ian -_ “

“Fiona, I’m serious.” 

“ _Our dinner’s done, I have to hang up now, Ian. Love you!_ ” 

“But - Fi!” Ian sighed, hearing the click of the connection breaking, digging his teeth into his tongue to keep from calling her something he would regret, whether or not he would be the only one to hear it. 

__________

The knock on the door of Ian’s loft didn’t come until around eleven, at which point majority of the food was long gone, and Liam and Yevgeny were passed out on the couch, feet dangerously close to each other’s faces. 

Ian muted the movie that he had been watching, before getting up from the armchair, heading over to slide the heavy door open. For some reason he had been expecting Svetlana, but instead he was standing face to face with Mickey; even in the dim lighting that the hallway provided, Ian’s tired brain couldn’t help but notice how he somehow managed to look gorgeous and absolutely exhausted, all at the same time. 

“Hi.” Ian said through a whisper. “They’re asleep on the couch,” he explained, then, moving aside to let Mickey in through the door. As Ian slid the door closed, Mickey took a few steps in, stretching his neck enough to see his son yawn in his sleep, nearly kicking his friend in the face before he settled back down. 

Ian put his hands behind himself to tuck them into the pockets of his jeans, but then he realised he was wearing sweatpants, so he just ended up letting them hand awkwardly by his sides, standing in front of Mickey for just a second too long - just enough to make it slightly awkward. Perhaps it was the silence, the dim loft, or just Ian making things up in his own head, but it was awkward. Fuck, why was it awkward? They were friends, right? Sort of. Maybe he should just go over to the couch and wake the boys up. But Mickey should be the one to wake his own son up, right? Or maybe they could just sleep for a little while? Perhaps Ian could have just… just a little bit of time alone with Mickey? 

“There’s leftovers - “ The words came out of Ian’s mouth before he had fully processed them; he gestured towards the kitchen. “Just - I know you just got off work, I could heat some of it up for you.” Ian was fully, and completely prepared for Mickey to shake his head, say no. 

“Fuck yeah, man. That’d be fucking great.” Spending more time with Mickey? In theory a good thing. But that also meant that Ian would have more time to embarrass himself, and fuck this new, fragile friendship up. He didn’t know whether to curse himself to pat himself on the pack for managing to ask Mickey if he wanted food, so instead of doing either, he nodded, and headed towards the kitchen. 

__________

Just like the first time Mickey and Yevgeny had been over to the loft, Ian and Mickey’s tension seemed to dissipate in the presence of beer, and the white noise of the kitchen. They sat with a corner of the kitchen island in between them, as Mickey ate the leftover tacos that Ian had microwaved for him, meanwhile they talked about everything, and about nothing. Though, they kept their voices relatively low, knowing that Liam and Yevgeny were still fast asleep on the couch. 

“Didn’t take it seriously first,” Mickey shrugged, swallowing down some of the beer. “Then Svet dragged him to different auditions, and he got like half of ‘em, so - I don’t know, figured we owed it to him to see it through.” 

“That’s really cool,” Ian said earnestly. “I mean, that you’d pack your life up for your kid’s dream.” Mickey shrugged again, waving him off. 

“What fucking life, man? D’you have a hard time leaving that shithole behind?” Ian shook his head immediately, but then he thought about it, changing his mind slightly. 

“I mean - I got my family out of there too, so I guess not. But… I don’t know, sometimes I miss the streets, just ‘cause… it’s where I grew up, you know?” Ian explained. “Lost my virginity in the alley behind the Bamboo Lotus,” he added then, happy when the joking tone of his voice brought a smile to Mickey’s lips as he looked down at the plate, picking another bite up. 

“Prude, man,” he mumbled through the food in his mouth. “That’s one of the cleanest places around. Gotta go for one of the alleys behind the Alibi, or one of the bathrooms…”

“In the Alibi?” Ian asked. 

“In the Alibi, yeah,” Mickey laughed - laughed. Mouth open, teeth showing - everything. Fuck, he was beautiful. 

They continued talking well after their bottles of beer were empty, along with Mickey’s plate. A few times they had to remind themselves to tone their voices down so as not to wake the sleeping kids on the sofa. A part of Ian was happy - a large part of him - because even though he had been getting along with Mickey for a while now, with every word shared in between them, they seemed to be growing more and more comfortable with each other. But there was also a small, nagging part of Ian’s brain that got a bit louder with each minute - the voice that said that he didn’t want to be friends with Mickey. The voice that told him to ask himself what those lips would feel like against his own; what Mickey would look like, waking up in the morning light of Ian’s bedroom. God; he really needed to get a grip on himself, didn’t he? 

__________

“Thanks for this, man,” Mickey whispered a few minutes before midnight, as they moved over towards the front door. Yevgeny was in Mickey’s arms - somehow he was strong enough to lift the nine year-old; Ian didn’t know how. Yevgeny wasn’t asleep, but tired enough that he had dropped his own head a few times before finally letting it rest against his father’s shoulder. Ian realised how similar they actually looked - Yevgeny may be blonde, but the shape of his face, even his eyebrows? It was all Mickey. 

“Ah, come on,” Ian waved him off, voice hushed as Liam was still fast asleep behind them. “Of course I’ll watch my friend’s kid.” Mickey took one hand off of his son to scratch his temple, looking away for a second as his mouth pulled up into a grin. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said, hitching Yevgeny higher on his hip as he looked back at Ian. The inside of the loft was dark, but Mickey was standing just outside of the front door, and there was a lone lightbulb hanging from the hallway ceiling. There was just enough light that Ian could see the face that he was so quickly growing attached to. God, he wanted to kiss him. Not make out, or sleep with him - not right now, not yet - he just wanted to kiss him. He wanted to lean forwards and press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. Not even enough to disturb the child in his arms, who was once again fast asleep. 

But as much as Ian was crushing on Mickey, he valued their budding friendship so much more. So of course he didn’t. Instead, he took half a step back, and put his hand on the doorway, as Mickey backed away towards the gangly elevator. 


	6. five

“You are home late.” 

“Jesus fuck,” Mickey cursed at the sound of Svetlana’s voice, right as he turned the corner in the hallway of the apartment building. She was standing in between her own door, and Mickey’s, her arms crossed as she leaned back against the wall. Mickey had to admit - the extra large Snoopy pyjama pants, along with the glasses on her bare face made her look less like a mafia wife. Not that he was afraid of her - anymore - but he did feel more relaxed when she looked like a human being. “What’s it to you?” He asked, hitching his sleeping son further up on his hip - he should really stop doing this; the kid may not be overweight, but he was decently tall for a nine year-old; Mickey’s arms were starting to protest. “He’s sleeping at my place anyway, why aren’t you at yours?” 

This was exactly what Mickey had been afraid of when Svetlana had wanted to rent their apartments right next to each other - her poking her head in when it was supposed to be his time wit Yevgeny. But he hadn’t protested - Yevgeny was the most important thing in his life, having him close by was something he would never be able to say no to. 

“Wanted to say hello,” Svetlana informed him, stepping closer so that she could place a soft hand on her son’s cheek, before replacing it with her lips. Yevgeny opened his eyes, blinking softly. Mickey considered putting him down and walking inside, leaving them alone, but Yevgeny’s body was still heavy in his arms.

“Hey mama.” 

“Did you have a good time, Zhenya?” Svetlana asked him, in a tone of voice that Mickey had only ever heard her use with him. 

“Yeah,” Yevgeny said through a yawn. 

“Aight, I gotta get him to bed,” Mickey gestured for Svetlana to back away. She gave him a look that somehow let him hear all the words she would be saying if their son wasn’t right there. He gave him the same one right back. “Go brush your teeth,” Mickey said when he had unlocked the door, putting Yevgeny down by the threshold. He had assumed that Svetlana had already gone back into her own apartment, but when he reached behind himself to tug the door closed, he encountered resistance. 

When he turned around, there she was, holding it open. 

“You know, that look on your face ain’t half as scary with you dressed in one of our son’s Spongebob Squarepants shirts.” 

“It’s too big, he says. I care about environment.” 

“Sure you do,” Mickey rolled his eyes, attempting to pull the door shut again - failing - because she was of course, stronger than he was. Somehow. 

“You like him?” Svetlana asked. “Comedian?” Over the years, Mickey had become decent at reading between the lines, deciphering her tone. This was one he had never quite heard before; it wasn’t nearly as soft, or gentle as the one she had just used with their sleeping son, but it was… closer to it, than anything he had ever heard directed towards himself. 

“Let go of the fucking door, Lana,” Mickey said, voice exasperated. “It’s late.” 

“Hm.” She seemed to consider it for a second, but then she obeyed, dropping her hand, and letting him pull it closed. Mickey ran a hand over his face. Why the hell did she have to ask that? He had been doing just fine living in denial. 

“Dad! I can’t get the toothpaste out!”

“Coming!” 

__________

Mickey always used one of the sinks at the body shop to wash off the worst of the grime before he left, but once Yevgeny was in bed, he finally got the change to step into the shower in what felt like way too long. The New York apartment wasn’t anything special - small, and fucking expensive for what it was, but that was New York - but at the very least, it had decent water pressure. Better than anything that Mickey had ever felt growing up. 

He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, closing his eyes as the hot steam surrounded him, and the water soothed his sore muscles. For a while, his mind was blank - nothing but the relief of the heat, and the water. Then there was a flash - a memory, only a few hours old, of a bright smile, and red hair, and Mickey immediately lowered the temperature of the water until it was freezing. 

The soft sheets on the floor bound mattress felt better against Mickey’s back than the water of the shower; it was as if he could immediately feel his body sighing its thank you to him for letting it relax - despite the fact that his alarm would be ringing within five hours. That, alone, was enough of a reason why he should be closing his eyes to try to get some sleep. 

Yet, as he kicked at the covers to get them loose, he stared up into the dark ceiling, and he sighed. He truly couldn’t do anything right, could he? Not even make friends. Ian was this great guy, who had a kid - not really his own child, his brother, but whatever, he was caring for the kid - that Yevgeny really got along with. He was funny, and Mickey had a lot in common with him. He had never really been one for having a lot of friends growing up - back in Canaryville, no one really was. 

But being friends with Ian, for the short while that they had been - if you could even call it that, since they had had about three actual conversations, or so - it felt good. So why the hell did Mickey’s brain have to go and blow it all up by showing him images of… well, Mickey blowing something else. Was he that fucked in the head? That he would never be able to make friends with a man if he was moderately attractive? Of course, Mickey would consider Ian a bit more than moderately attractive, but… that wasn’t the point. Fuck. 

Ian was a good person - he had fucked up at first, but now Mickey knew that he was - good. And Mickey didn’t know a lot of those people, so the last thing that he would ever want to do would be to fuck this fragile, new friendship up. And he wouldn’t let himself. 

__________

Another three days managed to pass before Lana was too busy to pick Yevgeny up, and Mickey had to do it. He knew that he shouldn’t be nervous - they were friends; Ian had even been texting him. Random things - jokes about his day, or comments about a show he was watching. Sometimes Mickey replied, and sometimes he didn’t, but either way, he appreciated it. He had never quite had this before. But he knew - realistically - that he would find it a lot more difficult to ignore that voice in the back of his head when he stood in front of Ian again. The voice that meticulously pointed out each and every thing about him, and put pictures inside of Mickey’s head of how his hands would be able to grab his hips, or what that bright, red hair looked like in the morning. God damn it. 

All of that bullshit aside, though - Mickey always felt a strong sense of pride in his stomach when he walked into that large cement building to pick his son up. It wasn’t that Yevgeny was ‘going somewhere’ as far as money and possible fame went - although the money he was getting from his acting was putting a decent chunk of change into his college fund - but Mickey loved to see his son doing something he loved doing. That had never really been a possibility for Milkovich’s before - at least not in many, many years. 

Either Mickey was early, or the crew was running late - either way, he ended up in a waiting room with a group of other parents. It had happened once or twice before, and every time, it felt so official. He could feel the eyes of the stage moms borring into his soul - or at least trying to. In an attempt to look busy, he scrolled through his emails on his phone, shutting out the quiet chatter going on in between the others. 

Usually, Mickey would sit in the middle, just because the rest of the chairs were full, but this time, he had managed to score one in the corner, which he rather quickly realised was a mistake. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” a female voice said next to him, lowered into a whisper. “I’m Calli - Aidan’s mom.” For christ’s sake. What about Mickey told people that he wished to be approached? He was quite sure there was nothing - and yet, here he was. 

“Pleasure,” he greeted, monotonously, looking up at her for about the duration of a fast blink; then he went back to his phone, hoping that she would take the hint. 

“I’ve seen you with a little blond boy, right?” Mickey nodded, finally folding, and putting his phone away to look at her - although he didn’t put on a smile, or any similar facial expression that would in any way give her the idea that he was interested in this conversation. It wasn’t that he was quite as hostile as he had been at on point - clearly - there were times when he would quite happily carry on a decent conversation. As long as it was about something. As long as there was a point to it of some kind. 

“Yeah, Yev,” he nodded. The woman smiled, nodding - he wasn’t sure how old she was. Slightly older than himself, surely - thirty? Hell, what did it matter? Although he did find himself mentally registering that her dark brown hair carried with it a shade of red. He would be a lot more into this conversation if it had been red - naturally red. Perhaps if she had been a male. 

“He’s so cute,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Mickey fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ve seen your wife around, too - what’s her name again?” 

“Svetlana - ain’t my wife.” He wasn’t lying. And like hell he would be voluntarily giving this woman information - she seemed nice enough, but come on. 

“Really? So you’re not seeing anyone?” Mickey raised his eyebrows. 

“You hitting on me?” Calli didn’t seem embarrassed, but she did seem a bit thrown - surprised that he would just come out and ask her that. 

“Well - I suppose I am.” 

“Unless you got a cock between your legs, you ain’t my type, sorry,” Mickey shrugged, taking his phone back up to continue to scroll through the inbox that he had already gone through, hoping that she would let it go. At least she didn’t bother him again. 

__________

“Daddy!” As soon as the parents were let onto the soundstage, and scattered across the large area, Yevgeny came running up to Mickey, and Mickey was ready, catching him and lifting him up onto his hip. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of energy. Someone give you sugar today?” Mickey asked, feigning seriousness, but struggling to keep the look on his face when his son looked down and nodded. 

“It’s only a few days left, Alexa gave us marshmallows. Are you mad?” Mickey had to break at that; he shook his head, grinning as he pressed a kiss to Yevgeny’s cheek. Then Ian was walking towards them, and at the sight, Yevgeny immediately seemed to remember something. “Wait, I forgot to say something to Liam, put me down,” he stated, starting to move around Mickey’s arms until he finally did as he said, letting him run across the soundstage. A part of Mickey wished he could have kept holding him while talking to Ian - like a barrier. God damn it. What was next? A blankie? A binkie? A stuffed animal? Fuck he was pathetic. 

“You been feeding my kid sugar?” Mickey crossed his arms, his eyebrows raising a bit. At the question, Ian’s face broke out into a large grin, as he laughed. He wasn’t nearly close enough for it to be uncomfortable - or for it to look like they were anything but acquaintances talking - but Mickey still had to tilt his head up just ever so slightly, and he hated the thoughts that ran through his mind at the realisation. Even in the brightness of the florescent lights above, he looked good - how was that possible? 

“That was all Alexa - they had two each.” Mickey brought one eyebrow higher than the other. “Maybe three,” Ian gave in. Mickey let a chuckle slip, nodding - as if to say ‘all good.’ “Don’t look but Aidan’s mom keeps looking at you,” Ian said, then, his eyes widening for a second before he let a smile settle onto his face again. Mickey rolled his eyes, scratching his temple. 

“Tried hitting on me outside,” he nodding towards the waiting room. “Had to tell her I like cock just to get her off my back.” Ian chuckled at that, but Mickey couldn’t help but feel as if something behind his eyes faltered. Was it possible that Ian was homophobic? He didn’t seem like it. Mickey hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility before letting him know that he liked guys. It had just been in passing - a funny comment about something that happened. Yet something seemed to shift in between them. God damn it, Mickey really needed to get out of here before he made a fool of himself. “Well uh… gonna take the kid, head out. Have a good night, man.” 

“You, too.” 


	7. six

The short conversation with Mickey left Ian feeling confused, and slightly… snubbed? Disappointed? Something like that. He managed to keep his mind off of it for the most part, by the ongoing banter in between him and Liam, as they made their way to the Chinese restaurant and picked up dinner, before heading back to the loft. They ate, and watched Netflix - it was a regular night. 

Then Liam fell asleep, head against the armrest on the other end of the couch, toes poking the side of Ian’s thigh. Without anyone to talk to about it, Ian begun to lose interest in the plot onscreen, and instead started to think about Mickey’s words. Not that Ian had much of a reason, or right to feel upset - he hadn’t said anything wrong. It didn’t sit completely right with Ian that someone would ‘tell someone they like cock just to get them off their back’ but it wasn’t as if it was a homophobic comment. 

Maybe it was just the tone of his voice that had made it clear that it was a complete joke, that Ian was a bit sad about. The apparent confirmation that Mickey didn’t, in fact, ‘like cock’ and therefor Ian would never in a million years have a shot with him. Telling himself that fact was one thing. Having it told to him, directly or indirectly, was another. 

Ian sighed to himself and shook the thoughts as best as he could before reaching for the remote, turning the television off. 

“Liam,” he said, voice gentle as he placed his hand on his arm, shaking him softly. “Wake up, Liam.” His brother made a noise in between a groan, and a whine, as he turned from his side onto his back, a deep frown on his face. “We should brush our teeth, head to bed,” Ian tried, shaking Liam a few more times for good measure, until a deep sigh left the small boy’s nose, and he sat up, nodding. 

Using a walk akin to a zombie, Ian watched his brother make his way across the floor, and into his room, throwing the door closed. 

“Teeth!” Ian called, as he heard his footsteps heading towards the bed, rather than the ensuite. He didn’t get a reply, but the footsteps turned back around, and Ian found himself yawning, heading towards the staircase to carry himself up to the mezzanine. 

__________

Ian despised laying awake. His medications typically kept him decently level, and kept his worries from surfacing as he was trying to go to sleep, but for some reason, tonight, the red numbers on the clock beside his bed ticked past midnight, and then one, two, and three am, and he was unable to go to sleep. All he could do was stare at those two, annoying, blinking dots in the middle. 

The worst part that he knew why this was happening. There was the obvious stress of the project - but there was Mickey, too. Ian always did this - he got a crush on someone, got in way too deep too fact, subconsciously imagining a future together, before he was even sure that the other person was interested, or even gay. It had happened a few times. Though, for some reason, this one was different. 

Maybe because they had so much in common, and maybe because the sight of Liam and Yevgeny getting along had wormed its way deep into Ian’s lizard brain, subconsciously planting ideas of a future family, rings and ‘Honey I’m home!’s. Not that Ian had consciously thought about any of those things with Mickey - he was a presumptuous romantic, but he wasn’t a lunatic. That being said, he thought about them in general sometimes - with a person who didn’t yet have a face - and he knew that he did want those things. It was so rare for Ian to find a person he got along with, perhaps he had felt the promising friendship forming, and hoped that it could be more. 

God, he was an idiot. 

__________

Before long, it was the final day of shooting. It was probably the most emotional that Ian and Alexa had ever been on any kind of final day of a project. Of course there was a lot of work still ahead - editing, promotion, premiere, all of that - and the kids would be along for at least some of those things, but Ian hadn’t quite realised how much he would miss them all until it really came down to it. They were all so smart, and funny, and talented. If he hadn’t already been sure he wanted kids in the future, he was now. 

__________

Of course they couldn’t let filming end without a wrap party - a decently small one, with just the kids, crew, and the families of the kids invited. Weeks ago, they had decided to host it at the studio where they recorded the songs - mostly because it had a bar, and a good atmosphere, but also because after filming everything, and taking into account the promotion and the venues they were going to be showing the special at - they had blown through large portion of their budget - nearly all of it.

“So I uh…” Ian begun, hand on the bar counter behind himself, as he held a glass of whiskey in his hand; the kids had similar looking glasses, but of course filled with apple juice. It was quite cute. “I wasn’t sure how this was all gonna turn out when I came up with the idea - I said ‘I want to do a comedy special with fifteen kids.’ Uh, and they said ‘No.’” Ian paused, looking over the small crowd of people laughing. “And I said ‘Hear me out… I want to do a comedy special with fifteen kids - and me.’” There was another pause; Ian took the second or two to scan the crowd - small crowd - if you couldn’t find someone, they weren’t there - he knew he hadn’t missed him, but he hoped so. With no luck, he continued. “And sometimes, that’s what it’s like, you know - you have an idea, and everyone tells you it’s gonna be horrible, but you just gotta do it anyway. I don’t know if this is gonna be terrible, but what I do know is if it does turn out bad, it’s my fault.” He chuckled along with the crowd. “I’ve never worked with a group of actors as devoted and as talented as all of you - you all have such a bright future ahead of you.” Ian knew that he was automatically expected to be hilarious every single time that he stood in front of a crowd, big or small, but the reality was that he just kind of wanted to be earnest for a minute. Praise was nothing he had ever gotten growing up. These kids deserved to know good they were doing; there were adults that Ian had worked with who weren’t nearly as professional, or as talented. “Cheers!” Ian raised his glass, the crowd responding. 

__________

“What now?” 

Ian had been standing at one of the tall, round tables, talking to a few of the parents, but they had all scattered, and he was alone in the crowd by the time he heard Mickey’s voice, the sound soon being accompanied by the sight of him, walking up to rest his arms on the opposite side of the small table, nursing a bottle of beer. 

“What now what?” Ian asked, bringing his own bottle of beer - non-alcoholic; he had had enough - to his lips in an attempt to mask any expression that his face may pull without his consent. Mickey looked so good - and it wasn’t just the soft, warm bar lighting that made anyone appear at least three to five percent more attractive than they would be in daylight. It was also the way he was dressed, and the way he had styled his hair. Nothing over the top - dark jeans, a black button down - some extra gel in his hair. Ian hated how good he looked. How he could just invision pushing him up against a wall in his loft, slip his fingers in between the gaps in between the buttons, ripping his shirt open. How soft would his lips feel against Ian’s? How easily did that pale skin bruise? It was rather dim in this bar - his pupils were quite large; could they become larger? If Ian were to get down on his knees, and swallow him down until his nose was buried in black pubes - how blown would his pupils be, then? 

God, he really needed to get a grip. Lusting over a straight man was something he hadn't even done as a teenager - what was wrong with him?

“Filming’s done, right? What’s next for you, man?” Mickey answered, seeming completely at ease. It only made Ian all the more paranoid that he would somehow accidentally let him onto the fact that he was looking him in the eyes, surrounded by at least fifty other people, while simultaneously wondering what sounds he made while he was coming. 

“Well, I have to be involved in some of the editing, but I think it’s gonna be a calm couple months before the promo and everything starts up. Family’s coming out to see the premiere, it’s gonna be really good to have everyone back together,” Ian explained. He hadn’t quite realised how true that statement was until just now - he did miss having everyone together. Despite the noise, and the chaos; after growing up in the Gallagher house hold, living alone - or with a single sibling - was incredibly strange. He never quite got used to it. 

“Gonna swim some laps in that imaginary pool of liquid gold?” Mickey raised his eyebrows, taking another sip of his beer to cover his grin as the music switched from Jimi Hendrix to Jorja Smith. Fuck. Ian was really trying to walk away from the mental, imaginary images of a naked Mickey spread out beneath him on his bed, and the smooth R&B was not helping. 

“Told you it’s just water,” Ian corrected him. “And it’s not imaginary - it belongs to the building. Never said it was mine.” Mickey hummed as if he didn’t believe him. Ian didn’t have nearly enough alcohol in his system to suggest that Mickey come by some late night so that he could show him the pool, press him up against the side of it. God, his thoughts were really entering the creepy territory, weren’t they? He needed to stop. For real. 

“Still playing single dad, or are you uh… off duty for now?” Mickey questioned, nodding towards the group of kids gathered on one of the vinyl sofas; Liam being one of them. Ian let out a sigh of amusement. 

“Yeah, I’m off duty - for a while. He’s going back in a couple days, catching up on some school. Fiona’ll be glad to see him.” 

“Liam’s leaving?” Yevgeny’s voice both drew their attention down to the boy by Mickey’s side. 

“Yeah, man,” Mickey said, placing his hand into his son’s hair. “He doesn’t live here, gotta go back to Chicago.” Yevgeny didn’t start crying, but his bottom lip was pushed out as he nodded, staring down into the floor. Before Ian could stop himself, the words were out of his mouth. 

“Hey - he’s leaving in two days. Maybe you could come over tomorrow? Spend some time together?” Ian suggested, hoping that he was succeeding in hiding the fact that he was jumping at the excuse to have Mickey in his apartment again. 

“What do you say, bud?” Mickey turned to his son. At the suggestion, the boy nodded excitedly, and Ian tried not to do the same. 

__________

“Let me ask you something?” 

Maybe opening his mouth was a bad idea - okay, it was absolutely a bad idea - but the night had been going so well; Liam and Yevgeny got along like they always did, and Ian and Mickey had laughed and shared memories and anecdotes about the old neighbourhood. With a few beers in his system, and the boys passed on the floor in front of the television, amid pillows and blankets, Ian couldn’t help it. 

“What?” Mickey’s response was closer to a hum than an actual word, as he closed his lips around the mouth of the bottle of beer. Ian turned to face him, pressing his back to the armrest of his side of the couch. 

“The thing you said the other day, about Calli hitting on you, and you telling her you liked cock. Why’d you do that?” 

Slowly, Mickey brought the beer away from his lips, his eyebrows raising at the same torturous pace, as if he was searching his brain for an answer. Finally, he placed the bottle onto Ian’s coffee table, and shrugged. 

“I don’t know, man. Shouldn’t I have?” He questioned. “She homophobic or some shit?” 

“What? No - well, I don’t know. Don’t think so,” Ian babbled, suddenly wishing he had kept his mouth shut. God damn it. “Just - I mean, you don’t, right?” This may very well be the biggest mess than Ian’s big nose and matching mouth had ever gotten him into. Why couldn’t he just… not? Fuck. 

“The fuck you mean I don’t?” The bold eyebrows rose, and then traveled closer together, creating a few creases in his forehead. “You think I’d lie about that shit? ‘specially where we come from? The fuck are you on, man?” 

“So you do?” Ian struggled to keep the utter surprise out of his voice. “I mean, you’re - “

“Christ, man,” Mickey interrupted him with a sigh, pressing his palms against his forehead. Something told Ian that Mickey wasn’t angry, more so… disappointed. Upset that Ian would think so little of him. He wasn’t the only one in the room who was disappointed in Ian, that’s for sure. He sat in stunned silence, letting his brain catch up, as he watched Mickey move slowly over to the boys, carefully picking his son up. The few braincells currently working didn’t quite catch up until Mickey was already heading towards the door. 

“Wait,” Ian called in a whisper-yell, wanting to keep Yevgeny asleep. By the door, Mickey turned around, and gave him that look. The one that he gave Ian the first time that they had ever met. It wasn’t quite as intimidating with a sleeping child in his arms, but Ian still didn’t like it. 

“I didn’t mean - “ Ian cut himself off, unsure of how to continue. Mickey simply kept his eyebrows raised, waiting, though he reached behind himself to open the door, so Ian had a feeling he wouldn’t wait for much longer. What possible way out of this was there - other than the truth? “I like you,” Ian said quickly; almost too quickly. “Just - kept convincing myself I didn’t have a chance - not that I have one now… I just… I’m an idiot, it’s not ‘cause I don’t think you’re a good person, it’s ‘cause you’re one of the best. You know? Easier to pretend you’re not. Sorry.” 

God, Ian really was an idiot. In the span of five minutes, he had screwed up the best friendship he had ever had with anyone. 

Mickey stared at him, silently. In reality, it was probably about ten seconds until he opened his mouth, but to Ian it might as well have been a lifetime. 

“You - “ Mickey was cut off by Yevgeny mumbling something in his sleep, moving in his dad’s hold until he calmed down again, settling deeper into slumber. “This ain’t really a good time to talk about this, man,” Mickey said - which was clearly something different than what he had started to say before Yevgeny had moved. Ian sighed, nodding, before turning around to look into the loft, thankfully greeted by the sight of Liam still fast asleep. 

“I’m an asshole,” Ian whispered, then, looking into blue eyes filled with something he could not quite find a way to decipher. “But…” Should he spill his guts? Maybe he shouldn’t. But he wanted Mickey to know. “Y’know, I… don’t really make a ton of friends - not ones that grew up like me, that get that shit, so if you don’t wanna hang out anymore, that’s fine - but… I’d be bummed. Not just ‘cause I like you, you know in a way - “

“Jesus Christ, you really never shut up, huh?” Despite the fact that Mickey was still whispering, the words caused Ian to flinch slightly - and not in a bad way. Ian scratched his temple, and let out a sigh of amusement, mumbling something that sounded somewhat like ‘sorry.’ His eyes moved to the floor, just for a split second, and when he looked back up, there was a glimmer in Mickey’s eyes that he could never quite remember seeing before. 

“Tomorrow’s Lana’s turn to take the kid. If you bring something to eat, I might let you have some,” Mickey said, using an index finger to scratch at his temple, while somehow managing to carry his son with one arm, which shouldn’t have been nearly as impressive as it was. Ian struggled not to let his surprise, or genuine and sudden giddiness completely take over his face, but he felt the edges of his lips travel nearly as far as they would go, anyway. 

“Okay,” he nodded, as Mickey backed out of the apartment. “Seven thirty?”

“Don’t be late, man.” 


	8. seven

Ian was not an antsy person. Not when he wasn’t manic, at least. He usually didn’t move around his loft a lot for no reason, didn’t check his phone like a maniac, didn’t flip through the channels on his television without giving them a second to draw him in. All that to say, of course, he was doing those things now. 

It wasn’t just the date with Mickey - was it a date? Surely it was. Or perhaps he shouldn’t think about it too hard. 

He was also worried about Liam. He wasn’t flying home completely on his own, of course, there was another child in the special that was from Chicago, as well, and his mother was flying with them, but Ian still felt like a bad older brother. He could have gone on the flight, stayed in Chicago for a weekend, and then gone back to New York, but Fiona and Liam had convinced him that it was fine, as he had a lot of things to do. Which was true, of course, even though he didn’t really have anywhere to go right now, there were phone-calls to make, meetings to set up, decisions to make - but after shooting a special like this one, it often felt like a vacation. Most of the stress was over. And then, of course, it would start back up again when it premiered, and the reviews would start coming in, but that he absolutely should not be worrying about. Yet. 

Thank god Alexa had set up a few shows around the country in the coming weeks. Most people wouldn’t call that a vacation, either, but once again - Ian did. Stand up was how he got started - hell, he was still doing stand up as a main thing, but with everything else that he did, standing up on that stage was like breathing. It wasn’t that he never got nervous, or never worried about bombing, rather, it was that he knew exactly what to do when those things happened. His routine wasn’t the only thing on the tip of his tongue, but saves, funny retorts, and easy, half-improvisation bits were, too. In comparison to a life where he felt as if he had no idea what the hell he was doing outside of his career, wrapping his hands around that microphone was a relief. 

In fact, just thinking about it helped him calm down somewhat, at least to the point where his phone ringing didn’t make him jump out of his skin. 

“Hi, everything okay?” He immediately asked into the phone, desperate to hear his sister’s voice assure him that it was so. 

“ _Everything’s great!_ ” Fiona’s voice was accompanied by Liam’s, and Ian breathed, sinking back into the sofa, eyes focused on the skyline through the warehouse windows, enjoying the slight breeze that came through the one that had been tilted open. 

“Thank god,” Ian sighed, although the words weren’t quite loud enough for the receiver to pick them up. They were more said to Ian, himself, to calm him down further. Everything was okay. God, he had really become a worrier since getting out of the south side, hadn’t he? He supposed it made sense - in canaryville, the people he loved getting hurt every once in a while wasn’t something he had really been able to stop, and he had grown up with that mentality. But now it was at least worth a try, so he would be damned if he didn’t. “Gonna miss you, bud. Loft’s already quiet,” Ian said, then. 

“ _We just got home, he just ran up to see Franny,_ ” Fiona laughed through the phone. Ian nodded, eyes on his lap. “ _You okay?_ ” The question came after a beat of silence, and it pulled a sigh out of Ian that he hadn’t meant to be audible. “ _I missed him too much to send him back to you, but if you want Carl, he’s yours._ ” Ian laughed, despite the fact that he knew that it was only half a joke. Fiona needed to work - which she insisted on doing even though Ian paid for almost everything - Lip had Freddie and Tami, Liam needed to go to school and Debbie had Franny. If Ian needed company, Carl was the choice, and he wasn’t quite as much of a mess as he used to be. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Ian sighed, running a hand through the red strands of his hair, sinking deeper down into the couch, picking his feet up onto the coffee table. “Just… didn’t realise how much I missed everything… the noise, you know.” 

Growing up in a house with not only five siblings, but five chaotic siblings - to a large loft in New York wasn’t proving to be as easy as Ian had expected it to be. Of course there had been a few tiny apartments in between, but two of them had had roommates, and while living in the third one, his career had been picking up so fast that he hadn’t had time to sit in the silence. 

And now? Well, his career was going great - amazing - so great, in fact, that he didn’t have to work constantly for it, and the things that needed to be done, he was lucky enough to have assistants for that. God, he was pathetic. He was the one in a million who not only made it out of the south side, but who made it big. And here he was, on his expensive couch, in his large, Architectural Digest worthy loft, moping. 

“I _t’s only a few months until we’re all there_ ,” Fiona tried. “ _Bet we’re gonna make you regret those words._ ” They both laughed at that, because they knew it was true - well, half true - they would annoy him, but he would be smart enough to enjoy them while they were there. “ _Tell me you’re not spending the night crying on that couch_ ,” Fiona asked, then, and Ian could hear the sounds of her moving around, along with the beeps of the washing machine buttons. 

“No, no,” Ian shook his head. “I uh… I think I have a date, actually.” 

“ _You think, or you know?”_ She asked, the phone sounding further away from her; he could picture her placing it down onto the kitchen island while she tied her hair up, mouth pulled up into that large grin he had always been so jealous of. This was what it had come to. He was picturing his siblings, wondering what mundane things they were doing while he was on the phone with them. He really needed some friends in New York. 

“Well, I mean… he’s gay, and he told me to bring over takeout.” 

“ _That’s an excuse for a hookup if I’ve ever heard one_ ,” she said, sounding like she had the phone pressed to her ear again. 

“Really?” The thought hadn’t really crossed Ian’s mind. Well, that was a lie - of course sleeping with Mickey had crossed his mind, but he hadn’t really considered sleeping with him, and that just… being that. Ian wasn’t quite out of his mind enough to seriously picture him and Mickey getting married, or even dating - they weren’t there yet - but when he did picture them… happening… he was not picturing a meaningless hookup. Was that naive? 

“ _Did he call it a date?_ ” 

“Nah, no, but you know… he’s south side,” Ian admitted before he was able to stop himself. 

“ _Mickey’s gay?_ ” Ian sighed, mentally punching himself in the face. Outing someone was never a good thing to do, especially not the way that they had all grown up, but what was he supposed to do? Deny it? Come up with a lie about this other random guy from the south side that lived in New York that he had randomly bumped into? Even if Ian could make the lie convincing - which he couldn’t, because he was worse at lying than he was at anything else in the world - Fiona would see through it immediately. Ian’s silence seemed to be confirmation enough. “ _Just be careful, Ian._ ” 

Ian knew the rest of the words; she didn’t need to say them. ‘Be careful, Ian. You believe in true love and destiny way too much for your own good. I know you want to fall in love, and I want that for you, but we both know what happens when things don’t work out with someone. Don’t do that to yourself.’ 

“I know, Fi. Thanks. I should actually get going,” Ian decided, before the conversation would become too deep. “Love you.” The words weren’t ones often spoken in the house growing up - they were every once in a while, of course, but more than anything, it had been a give-in. Since everyone had grown up, though, and especially since Ian went off to New York, he had felt more of a need to say it. To make sure that they knew how much they all meant to him. “Tell the others for me.” 

“ _I will. Love you, too._ ” 

__________

Pizza had to be a solid choice, right? Despite its fame, New York pizza didn’t hold a candle to Chicago deep dish, but it wasn’t as if there was a place where you could get deep dish around here - not the real kind, at least - so it had to be an okay choice. Should he have gotten Chinese food? Or something more expensive. Fuck. South side. That’s what Ian had to remind himself as he made his way to the address that Mickey had texted him earlier that day. South side. It calmed him down somewhat. No one in the south side would ever say no to a free meal, or complain about it, at least not in a serious way. Every time Ian let those words repeat in his head - south side, it helped him. His entire life was filled with people, who - while great - didn’t understand him, or where he came from. From the very first time he and Mickey had held an actual conversation, it had clicked - he got it. They both did. 

Then, there were Fiona’s words. ‘Be careful, Ian.’ He knew that she meant well, but all he could head now was ‘Be careful, Ian. You’re gonna get hurt. You’re a lot more sensitive than you think you are. See? You’re already nervous, you’re not even sure it’s a date, why are you nervous?’ Of course it was no longer Fiona’s voice, but rather his own, mocking him. ‘You like this guy already, if he doesn’t like you back, which he probably won’t, seeing as you’re a complete mess and all, you’re gonna end up in bed for two weeks, and your siblings are going to have to put their lives on hold to come to New York and help you get back to normal. You’re a burden to them, you’re ruining everything. So don’t get to ahead of yourself. It’s not even a date. Did he say it was a date? It’s clearly not a date. You’re an idiot.’ 

“Fuck,” Ian cursed under his breath, doing his best to shut out his thoughts as he straightened his back, and let his knuckles his the flat surface of the wooden door in front of him. It took a minute until he heard the steps, but then, there they were, soon accompanied by Mickey’s face. He carried a small, casual smile on his lips that Ian couldn’t help but mirror. 

“Pizza? Sick, man, I’m starving.” He grabbed the box out of Ian’s hand, and most of the nerves that had been holding him so tightly, they just kind of… vanished. Walked out the door. It felt so normal. No ‘hello’. No ‘did you find the place okay?’ Just ‘sick, you brought pizza.’ 

A slight warmth settled in Ian’s chest as he took his jacket off, and hung it onto a hook by the door. Mickey had his back turned to him, the pizza box on the kitchen island as he folded it open, praising Ian on his choice of toppings - he had figured he couldn’t go wrong with meatlovers, and evidently he had been right. While Mickey spoke, Ian took the two or three seconds to look around the apartment; it was small - the front door more or less led you straight into the kitchen, which faded into an open plan living-room, and aside from the three doors that he assumed to be two bedrooms and a bathroom, that was it. Tiny - but it was nice. Good. There were a few jackets thrown around the place, a laptop on the coffee table littered with stickers, a flannel blanket over the back of the old leather couch. Suddenly the thought of Ian’s own large, carefully designed loft seemed cold, and unappealing. 

“If you were expecting a penthouse, man, hate to disappoint.” 

Ian looked back to Mickey, who had one of his eyebrows raised, as he walked around the kitchen island, carrying two chilled bottles of beer, holding one out to Ian, who chuckled, shaking his head as he took it. 

“Nah, nah. I was just thinking I like it. Reminds me of home,” he shrugged, taking a swing of the beer, looking Mickey in the eyes. How was it possible that he looked even better now - in a black wife-beater and an old pair of jeans - than he did the other night? He looked amazing the other night, but now… was it just the different air around them? The unspoken thing in between them? Because it was there, wasn’t it? He couldn’t possibly be imagining that. 

“What? Creaking floors, and cracked ceilings?” Mickey questioned, and Ian rolled his eyes, nodding to the homework on the coffee table, next to the framed photo of Yevgeny. 

“Family. Miss that a lot, loft gets quiet.”

“Oh, poor fucking you,” Mickey laughed, and Ian couldn’t help but join - it was ridiculous. What? His loft was too large? To expensive? His career was taking off too much? 

“So,” Ian said after a beat of silence, as he took a few steps closer to Mickey, placing his bottle of beer onto the kitchen counter, keeping his hand there, the other one mirroring its position, caging Mickey in - not too close; Ian was keeping his distance as much as he could in the position, but he wanted to try. Wanted to push this, see what happened. Was this a hookup? A date? 

“So?” Mickey raised his eyebrows, looking up at him, as if he was challenging him. 

“You uh…” Ian lowered his voice ever so slightly, thankful for the few lamps around the apartment, because the warm, yellow light fell across Mickey’s skin in a way that Ian had never quite seen before. Fuck, he was beautiful. “…gonna let me…” He inched his face closer - not nearly close enough; not a single part of their bodies were in contact with each other. “…have some of that pizza?” 

As soon as the words registered with him, Mickey snickered, reaching behind himself to slide the box closer to them, as Ian pushed himself off of the counter to open it. 

“You’re so fucking funny, should be a comedian, man. Might take off,” he stole the box right as Ian had picked up a slice, and he walked over towards the couch, Ian following. They took their seats next to each other, and the next hour or so was just… nice. Comfortable. In a good way. It almost felt like Ian was home. 

They talked about anything and everything - from Chicago, to movies, to books, to memories; they made fun of the way that New Yorkers acted, and the way that they spoke. They just… were. There was never a silent moment - each thing that Mickey said reminded Ian of something he wanted to say, and vice versa. 

Before long, the pizza was nearly gone, and the coffee table had four empty beer bottles littered across it. Mickey had tucked both of his legs up onto the couch, and Ian sat sideways, elbow on the backrest, leaning his temple into his palm, laughing as he watched Mickey wildly gesture about something or other. 

Without really trying to, they ended up moving closer, slowly but surely, and by the time the last slice of pizza was gone, they weren’t quite close enough that their noses would brush, but it wouldn’t take much. 

“Fucking tough guy, huh? Think you can take me?” Neither of them were sure how they had gotten into comparing stories of beatdowns and physical fights back home, but somehow, here they were. 

“Nah,” Ian shook his head, the sarcasm evident in his voice, as he looked around the apartment before settling his eyes back on Mickey. “No one can take you, seeing as you’re so fucking tall and all…”

“Fuck you, man,” Mickey laughed, with a raise of his eyebrow, large smile displaying his teeth. Fuck, his eyes were so blue. “I’ll beat your ass.”

“Yeah? Saying you want me to fight you?” Ian questioned, moving his face closer now. 

“Let’s do it, man. If it’ll shut you up.” Mickey dared, close enough that Ian could nearly - barely - feel his breath fan across his face. 

“Say it,” Ian demanded, watching as Mickey’s eyes flickered down towards his lips. 

“Fight me.” 

“Mikhailo! Why is the door locked? Come open!” The muffled sound of Svetlana’s voice was accompanied by some heavy knocks, and her pulling the handle. Mickey cursed loudly in frustration as he got up, and Ian sighed, taking a moment to breathe, and to make sure that everything in his pants was as soft as it should be before he stood up, making his way over to the door. 

“Ian!” Yevgeny cheered happily, skipping over towards him. Ian laughed, returning the hug that he was given around his waist, ruffling the blond hair. 

“I am going to Nika. I give Zhenya to you at nine. I told you.”

“No, the fuck you did not tell me.”

“Don’t want to spend time with your son?”

“That’s bullshit, you know I do.” 

Ian didn’t feel as if he should be listening in on the conversation in between Mickey and Svetlana, but it was a small apartment, so what else could he do? Except leave, which… maybe he should, but he really didn’t want to. 

Svetlana won - and maybe he would never tell Mickey this, but he really didn’t have a lot of hope of it turning out any other way. The woman was terrifying. It was obvious she wasn’t a bad person, but she was clearly a bulldozer when she wanted to be. 

So the door closed, and Ian and Mickey were left with a child in between them, which didn’t leave much hope for the night continuing the way they were originally hoping for. 

“Can we watch a movie?” Yevgeny asked Mickey, a hopeful tone in his voice. 

“Sure kid, but it’s late, go brush your teeth first, in case you crash,” Mickey nodded, and Yevgeny disappeared into the apartment. “Look, man, you don’t gotta stay.”

“You throwing me out?” Ian asked, a hint of amusement to his tone. Mickey shook his head, laughing slightly. 

“Nah, stay if you want. But I gotta feeling talking animals and a snoring kid ain’t exactly what either of us had in mind. You got something better to do, it’s all good,” Mickey nodded to the front door. 

Ian swallowed. It wasn’t as if this was a serious moment - but to him it was. Because he realised now, that he didn’t - there was nowhere else that he would rather be right now, than in this apartment with Mickey. Even if they spent the night watching a pixar movie with his son cock-blocking them. 

“I wanna stay,” Ian said, his serious tone seemingly throwing Mickey off. Rightfully so. 

“Alright, man.” 

So that’s how Ian and Mickey spent the rest of that night; with an animated movie on the small television screen, and a nine year-old in between them, who didn’t make it twenty minutes into the film before he begun to snore. Despite that, Ian and Mickey continued watching the movie, for no other reason other than the fact that it was already playing. At some point, Mickey got them another beer, each, and they finished them, not sharing a word. Nothing but comfortable silence and the chatter of the television in between them. It was becoming more and more difficult for Ian not to admit to himself how… right this felt. How much he wished he could do this again, tomorrow night. And maybe the night after that, too. 

Every once in a while, Ian would look over at Mickey, when he would be focused on the movie. The way that the blue light flickered across his features just… stabbed Ian in the heart. In a good way. 

For the longest time, Ian had wanted a partner. Someone to come home to. That partner had never had a face. He had never looked at any of the guys he had dated in the past and thought ‘You. It’s you. I want you.’ But Mickey took a swing of his beer, scratched his eyebrow, and Ian just… had a feeling. Mickey. It was Mickey. He wanted Mickey. 

__________

After the movie was over, Mickey had picked Yevgeny up, and disappeared to tuck him into bed. Ian took that as his cue to walk over to the front door, and take his jacket off the hook. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to stay for another hour or two, but the last thing he wanted to do was to overstay his welcome. As much as he liked Mickey, they weren’t there yet - and he wasn’t a complete maniac. 

“You leaving?” Mickey asked when he came back, voice not a whisper, but low enough that he wouldn’t wake his son on the other side of the wall. Ian nodded. 

“Yeah, figured you wanna crash, too. It’s late.” At that, Mickey looked down to the floor, and used his thumb to scratch at his temple, as he walked a little bit closer, past the kitchen island. Ian couldn’t quite read him. “Sorry about tonight, man. Lana - “

“Hey,” Ian shook his head, their eyes meeting. “It was a good night. Not disappointed.” 

“You sure?” The question was accompanied by raising eyebrows, and Ian let a sigh of amusement leave his lips as he nodded, taking a step closer, and then another one. Finally, he was close enough to reach out, hands resting on either side of Mickey’s face, fingertips meeting at the nape of his neck as he pulled him into a kiss. 

Their lips parted, making space for one another’s, and it felt like something they had done a thousand times before. Not just the way in which their mouths fit together, but the way Mickey’s hands immediately went to the back of Ian’s neck, and the way one of Ian’s moved to his waist to pull him even closer - everything was second nature. New, thrilling, and intoxicating - but natural. 

“I like you,” Ian told him through a whisper, before his eyes flickered open, landing on the blue ones staring up at him; at some point during the night, Mickey had turned off the light in the kitchen, so the ones in the living room painted half of his face, the other dim. “Like your place, like your kid - fuck, Mick,” Ian shook his head, deciding that he should probably stop talking before he said something stupid that would scare the other man off - something like ‘I think I’ve been waiting for you’ or ‘If I wasn’t smarter, I’d stay in this apartment until you had to kick me out.’ This was who Ian was; he moved too quickly. Alexa had once told him there was a Swedish word for it - Förälskelse. The intense feeling that filled your body right when you started a relationship - the honeymoon stage - not quite love, but a lot more than like. That was what Ian did - fell in förälskelse. But it had never felt like this before. It wasn’t just about Mickey’s voice, or Mickey’s eyes, or the way that Mickey walked, and carried himself - it was more than that. It was Mickey - the way he just… felt. The way that it felt to be around him. 

“Yeah, you ain’t that bad yourself, Gallagher,” Mickey said with a nod, and Ian grinned, stealing a few more, deep kisses before he forced himself to leave, unable to keep the contentedness off of his face. 

__________

“ _Heard you went out with a Milkovich, man. Nose still intact?_ ” 

Ian rolled his eyes as he prepared his breakfast, only half listening to his brother’s voice coming from the phone on the counter. Lip wasn’t that much of an asshole, truly - he just seemed that way - but to be honest, from what he had heard, the Milkovich brothers were the ones to blame for at least two out of the three bumps in his nose bridge, so perhaps he was allowed to be a bit grumpy. 

“Fine, and Fiona shouldn’t have told you that,” Ian sighed. 

“ _Come on, like I’m gonna out someone, that’s not me, man._ ” Ian nodded in agreement despite the fact that Lip couldn’t see him, and then he leaned back against the kitchen island to take a bite of his sandwich. “ _Sound happy, though - everything good?_ ” 

“Yeah,” Ian admitted, placing his plate to the side with the half-eaten breakfast, picking up the phone, keeping it on speaker as he rested his elbows on the marble countertop. “It was so good, Lip,” he sighed, and his brother made a noise of disgust. “No, no - we just hung out. Got cockblocked by his son, but I didn’t care, Lip, I’ve never felt so at home anywhere.” 

“ _Want a rag to wipe up all those rainbows you’re spewing?_ ” 

“You’re an asshole, I’m hanging up.” 

“ _No, no - sorry,_ ” Lip interrupted as Ian’s thumb hovered over the red button. “ _I’m happy for you._ ” Ian sighed, his entire body seemingly relaxing. “ _You gonna see him again?_ ” 

“Yeah,” Ian nodded. “Just texted this morning, gonna go over to his place tomorrow night.” He had hoped for tonight, but Mickey had to work. A part of Ian wondered what he looked like in his auto shop uniform. It was absolutely not something he should be wondering while on the phone with his brother. 

“ _Alright. Just -_ “

“Be careful?” Lip’s sigh was answer enough. Ian just wished everyone would trust him to take care of himself for once. Then again, they only cared because they loved him, and he knew that. “How’s Freddie?” 

__________

  
Mickey was the one to order the food this time; which meant that when he opened the door, Ian’s hands were both free to reach out and pull him by his shoulders, greeting him with a kiss. He barely gave Mickey enough time to mumble his own verbal greeting before it was muffled by the warmth of his lips. 

It was their second date; it should have been awkward, or at the very least, Ian should have been nervous. He wasn’t. Mickey didn’t seem nervous either. He was in sweat pants, Ian was in a old pair of jeans, and they spent majority of the night on Mickey’s couch, bickering playfully back and forth while eating the Chinese food that Mickey had ordered. They started to watch Die Hard, but eventually, they were arguing over things that had started as something that had to do with the movie, but had changed into a completely different topic. It wasn’t a bad thing - Ian liked to see Mickey’s eyebrows raise when he didn’t agree with something he had said. He liked to hear the sigh from his lips when he realised that Ian wouldn’t be giving up. It was perfect. This was perfect. 

“Got something on my face?” Mickey asked at some point during the night, the blue light of the muted television flickering across his features. Ian shook his head. 

“Just tryna figure out how someone can be so fucking ugly,” Ian mocked, his tone clearly suggesting the exact opposite to his words, as he swallowed the last of his beer, and put the empty bottle down onto the coffee table. 

“You’re a huge fucking dick,” Mickey coughed, shaking his head. Ian let his head tilt somewhat to the side for the second or two it took Mickey to finish his own beer and place it aside; when he settled back into the sofa, Ian was quick to press his nose against his jawline, a soft kiss to his pale skin. Mickey seemed to be frozen for a second, but Ian only needed to deepen the kiss for him to relax, red hair slipping in between the tattooed knuckles. 

“Have,” Ian said, just above a whisper, bringing his head up, an eyebrow raising. Mickey frowned, humming in question as their eyes met. “You said I’m a huge dick,” he clarified; he was rewarded by the thick eyebrows arching, Mickey’s forehead developing shallow creases as his lips pulled up into a mocking grin. 

“Oh yeah? You finally gonna put it to good use, tough guy?” 

“Mhm,” Ian only hummed before catching Mickey’s plump bottom lip in between his own, barely containing a groan when an enthusiastic tongue forced its way into his mouth, short fingernails scratching the back of his neck. 

Their shirts got thrown into the floor, as Ian pushed Mickey down against the couch cushions, sighing when he felt his legs lock around his own waist, pulling him down, creating friction in between them. One of them mumbled a curse or two, while the other one used their teeth to tug on a bottom lip, swallowing the sounds in a deeper kiss. 

“Stuff?” Ian managed to mumble by the time they were in their boxers, both of them moments away from saying ‘fuck it’ and dry humping each other until they came. Mickey stole another kiss before he muttered the word ‘bedroom’, nodding towards the only door Ian hadn’t seen opened before. “Come on,” Ian grunted, sitting back up onto his heels, pulling Mickey along with him, as they stumbled their way towards Mickey’s bedroom. 

It was dark, so since Ian didn’t know where to go, he let Mickey lead him, until he felt a low bed by his ankles, letting himself drop down onto his back, soon being joined by a weight on his chest, the make-out session resuming for a few moments before Mickey leaned over towards a nightstand, throwing a bottle of lube and a condom next to them. 

“Please tell me you’re a bottom,” Ian couldn’t help but groan, as he got up onto his elbows and looked up at Mickey, where he sat on top of him, the faint moonlight highlighting the pale skin, the plump lips shining with their mixed saliva. If Mickey was a top, Ian would bottom. Maybe. But god, he hoped he wasn’t. 

“No one takes cock like me, man,” Mickey confirmed, rolling his hips suggestively; the sensation had Ian drop his head back, his eyes falling closed. Ian hadn’t meant to, but eventually he had to drop himself, as Mickey pulled his boxers, a steady hand working his length. “Jesus fuck you’re packing,” he breathed, and Ian grinned in the dark, eyes still closed. 

“Think you can take it?” He opened his eyes now, using one of his elbows to steady himself as he looked down at Mickey, who had made his way down the bed. 

“You doubting me?” Mickey asked, looking up at him, as his hand stilled around his cock, his grip growing stronger - not painful - just warning. Ian licked his lips. 

“No, no,” Ian was quick to confirm, running a hand through the dark strands. Mickey mumbled something that sounded kind of like ‘good’ and without warning, he took Ian into his mouth, and Ian was unable to do anything but just lay there, at least for a few seconds. He collapsed onto the mattress, eyes closed as he felt the tight head of Mickey’s talented mouth working the top half of his cock, his tongue moving around in ways that he had never felt before. “Jesus fuck,” Ian cried, his hand returning to the black hair as he felt Mickey start to take more of him with each bob of his head, more and more saliva steadily gathering all over Ian’s cock. 

A few seconds later, Ian thought that Mickey was starting to move in a different way, and his confusion brought him to look up, only able to groan once again when he saw Mickey sucking his cock like he was born for it - while somehow simultaneously reaching behind himself, getting himself ready. 

“Fuck, Mick,” Ian sighed, unable to understand how he had somehow ended up in this situation - he was always the giver, always the reason for the ‘ _Jesus fuck_ ’s and the ‘ _Christ_ ’s. As much as he liked this, this wasn’t how this was going to stay - he wasn’t going to just take it, he wasn’t going to allow himself to come before he had Mickey crying in pleasure, too. 

So by the time that Mickey had rolled the condom onto his cock, Ian stole the lube out of his hand, shaking his head, as he pushing himself up onto his knees; he brought Mickey in for a few deep, sloppy kisses, enjoying the taste of beer and nicotine before he pulled away. 

“On your knees,” he commanded. Mickey hummed, stealing another kiss before he moved, pressing his knees against the mattress, letting his upper body collapse against the bed, face into the pillow as he rolled his hips. “Christ, Mick,” Ian sighed, unsure whether he recognised his own voice or not. 

“Fuck me, man,” Mickey grunted when Ian took a second too long to lube himself up. “Come on.” 

Ian threw the bottle to the side, and gave himself a few tugs as he got into place, placing his palm against Mickey’s lower back. 

“Fuck.” The word was simultaneously shared in between them, and outdrawn; a sound that only came from this - the first thrust; bottoming out. “Fuck,” Mickey coughed when Ian was deep enough for his pubes to brush against the pale skin of his ass. Ian gathered himself enough to knead the flesh, pulling out, just a little bit, before entering again, then slowly but surely building up a pace that had his chest heaving, and Mickey mumbling nonsense into the pillow. 

“No pillow,” Ian barely had the braincells to breathe. “Wanna hear.” At the request, Mickey pushed it to the side, the soft object tumbling to the floor, the curses immediately becoming louder and clearer as Ian realised that he found a spot inside of Mickey that he particularly enjoyed; he continued to aim at it, both of them growing rapidly more out of breath; closer to the edge. 

Ian tried to keep his eyes open, wanting the view of Mickey’s body as he pushed himself back onto Ian’s dick, but his vision blurred, and eventually, he was forced to close his eyes, trying to make up for it by running his hands over the soft skin; kneading his ass and thighs, scratching his back, tugging at his hair. 

“Fuck I’m fucking close, give me that cock, fuck.” Mickey’s words were strained and choppy, but Ian understood them perfectly, because he was right there with him. Before he could overthink it, he pulled out, and gave Mickey’s hip a rough pull - not nearly rough enough to roll him over normally, but considering his current state, he flipped over in a second flat. 

“Good like this?” Ian asked, entering him again; Mickey answered with a nod, eyes closed, his tongue resting in between his lips. It was too inviting, too irresistible - Ian dove down, catching him in a wet, zealous kiss as he continued aiming at that specific spot that had Mickey mumbling nonsense into his mouth. 

Mickey’s legs locked around Ian’s waist helped him keep the pace up as he reached for the lube, and squeezed some into his hand. It wasn’t necessary - Mickey was already leaking all over them both - but it always made it better. As soon as he wrapped his hand around Mickey’s cock, his own bottom lip was caught in between Mickey’s teeth, a low groan coming from deep within his throat. 

“It’s okay,” Ian promised once his lip was free, pressing one last kiss to Mickey’s mouth before moving to his jaw and neck, flicking his wrist as he jerked him off. Eventually, it seemed Mickey couldn’t help Ian in his thrusts anymore, and instead, he could feel his calves shaking against his back. “Come with me,” Ian mumbled against his collarbone. “Mick.” 

That was it; Mickey let go, and as soon as Ian felt the warmth of his chest, he couldn’t help but tumble over the edge, himself. After mumbled curses, and a few messy thrusts, Ian collapsed on top of Mickey, nose tucked in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. If Mickey hadn’t pushed him off to get a towel, perhaps he could have stayed that way forever. 


	9. eight

Things in between Ian and Mickey were turning out to be surprisingly… simple. The first three weeks of dating were some of the best of Ian’s life, and he would say that with complete honestly, even if it wouldn’t end up lasting in between them - which he hoped it would, of course. He had never felt quite so… at peace. 

They didn’t see each other every single day, of course, considering the fact that they both had jobs that they needed to do, though one more constrained than the other - but at least three or four times a week, Ian would go over to Mickey’s place, often with some food. Sometimes Yevgeny would be there - one time, Ian had walked in on Mickey helping him with his math homework, which really shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was, but he couldn’t help it - he was weak for the whole ‘responsible adult’ thing, especially when it came to Mickey. He was so rough on the outside, he understood exactly what Ian came from, but at the same time, he was able to be soft and responsible, and - god, Ian really needed to get a grip and stop getting ahead of himself. If he didn’t watch himself, he would end up doing something stupid, like telling Mickey he loved him less than a month before they started seeing each other. 

As much as Ian liked Yevgeny, though, of course he got just as thrilled when he realised that he was with Svetlana, and he had Mickey to himself. Not just because of the nights, but because of the mornings; Ian loved waking up to see the pale skin littered with soft bruises, the dark hair tousled by his own fingers, the hoarse voice leaving the swollen lips. Mickey was not turning out to be much of a morning person, so it had become a bit of a habit for Ian to make breakfast and bring the food to Mickey in bed - considering he never spent the night when they had somewhere to be the next morning. It all felt like a little bit of a honeymoon - and he was aware of the fact that it was, most likely, a honeymoon stage - but it didn’t scare him too much. No matter how much he got used to Mickey, or how comfortable they got with each other, he couldn’t see himself getting bored. Never. 

“You sick?” The question came one of those very mornings, when Ian was standing in Mickey’s kitchen, swallowing down his medication. He turned to face Mickey, who stood in the bedroom doorway, dressed in his own boxers, and Ian’s shirt from the night before, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Fuck,” Ian sighed, scratching his temple. He had hoped that he would be able to decide when he had to tell Mickey about this, but it seemed that the moment was here, and there was nothing that he could do. 

Mickey simply raised his eyebrows slightly more, waiting for an answer, but then he seemed to change his mind. 

“Forget it, man, you don’t gotta tell me. Ain’t known each other that long.”

“No, I - uh…” Ian scratched his neck, and Mickey seemed to notice the way that he fumbled with the spatula, so he nudged him to the side, and flipped the pancake, letting Ian take the minute to gather his thoughts. “It’s not physical, I have bipolar disorder. It’s kind of like ups and downs, and - “  
“Yeah, I uh… heard of it,” Mickey surprised him by saying, placing the spatula to the side as he leaned his hip against the counter, looking at Ian. “You good right now?” Immediately, Ian could feel himself nodding, before he had even consciously processed the words. 

“Absolutely,” Ian promised, taking half a step closer, his hand resting on Mickey’s hip. “Really fucking good right now,” he continued, leaning in. 

“Good,” Mickey said, closing the space in between them. 

__________

Eventually, Ian had to leave. It wasn’t a huge deal - he was only gone for about a week and a half, traveling around the country to do his shows. 

The routine he had put together for this tour was somewhat of a mix in between his favourite bits - usually he would throw away the old and make space for an entirely new routine, but since this was mainly something that had been set up for him to pass the time, he figured it was a good idea to do a ‘greatest hits’ thing of sorts. 

The tour in and of itself was something Ian enjoyed - even more than usual; doing his favourite bits didn’t just mean that he had a good time, but it also meant that he got even more laughter than usual, and he knew his performance and delivery like the back of his hand - but that wasn’t a bad thing. That meant that he could get even more into it, and mess around with the crowd, and all in all have a good time. 

Whenever he got back to the hotel, though, the high wore off quite fast, and whenever he ordered something to eat, or switched on the television, all he could think of was how much he wished that Mickey was there with him. 

Only four days after he had left New York, he was on the bed in sweatpants and a hoodie, as the night sky fell outside of the large windows; he had a bucket of fried chicken in front of him, and an old re-run of Seinfeld on the television, yet his phone was the thing calling his attention. He couldn’t call Mickey - they had just spoken this morning, and Ian knew that he had been working all day, he would be exhausted. He couldn’t call Fiona or Lip, either - it was Liam’s bedtime, and Freddie had been waking up all hours of the night, so if Ian was the cause of that, he could say goodbye to having an older brother who would speak to him. 

Sighing,, Ian threw a half-eaten chicken wing into the bucket, and leaned back against the mountain of pillows; he was just about to reach for the remote to turn the volume up when there was a knock on the door. 

Frowning, he got up and answered it. 

“Are you busy? I need company.” At the view outside of his door, he sighed, taking a slight beat to think before shaking his head. 

__________

“Thanks for this,” Ian said, leaning back in the vinyl booth of the twenty-four hour diner. He supposed Houston was good for some things. Alexa looked up at him, a napkin clenched in her fist as she placed her hand over her mouth, chewing and swallowing before she spoke. 

“What do you mean?” She questioned, taking a sip of the large, fifties themed milkshake. He tilted his head slightly to the side, silently telling her to cut the bullshit. 

“You never need company, you love being alone,” he clarified, as if either of them needed it. She sighed, shrugging as she picked her feet up onto the seat, her slim legs drowning in the fabric of the cookie monster pyjama pants. 

“I could smell the self pity from my room. You doing okay?” Ian was about to say that he was fine - which was true; it wasn’t as if he was a mess, it had just been a long time since he had had anybody to miss like this. As much as he loved Alexa, their relationship had never been extremely personal - not professional, they were friends, for sure - but colleagues first. 

“It just sucks,” Ian settled on. “I know I’m being a baby, but you know…”

“Feels pretty good, though, doesn’t it?” She asked, causing a frown to form on Ian’s face. “To have someone to miss like that, it’s a pretty good feeling, isn’t it?” When she put it like that, he couldn’t deny it. As much as it sucked to have to be apart from Mickey, there was some kind of excitement, too - as the days ticked by, because he knew that he would see him soon. 

“Yeah. Feels a little high school, though,” he admitted. “To be this into someone this quickly.” She rolled her eyes, staring him down with an exhausted look on her face; those were the exact words she had said to him after falling in love with her wife. 

“I see we’re done with the heart to heart?” She threw a fry his way, causing him to shrug, and pick it up from the table in front of him, popping it into his mouth. 

___________

“You’re right. This is very high school,” Alexa said on Friday afternoon, her exhaustion causing a slight vocal fry. Ian waved her off, wondering whether they should have gotten separate cars from the airport. “Wow, you’re not even answering, you’re really caught up, huh?” Ian waved her off again, staring down at the three dots in the corner of the screen, eyes looking over the conversation above it. 

**Ian:** _Can’t wait to see you._

**Ian:** _You working tomorrow?_

**Mouse:** _Nah_

**Ian:** _Yevgeny?_

**Mouse:** _With Svet_

**Mouse:** _You coming over?_

**Ian:** _Was thinking you could come over to my place, I booked the pool_

**Mouse:** _Booked meaning no other people?_

**Ian:** _Exactly_

“You ever actually had sex in a pool? Great fantasy, doesn’t really work out,” Alexa said, chin on his shoulder. Finally, he turned to look at her, thankfully right as the car started to slow down and come to a stop. 

“Yeah, that’s your place right here, you can go,” Ian gestured to the car door next to her. She rolled her eyes, and left as he promised he would call her tomorrow, then the car continued to move towards the loft. 

___________

After the smooth elevators that Ian had experienced in the past few days, the old, rickety one that led up to his place felt slow and shaky - but as soon as it reached the top floor, those thoughts completely disappeared. He was already there, casually leaned back against the brick wall next to the front door, lazily scrolling through his phone, seemingly completely unaware of how fucking good he looked. 

“There you are, man,” Mickey looked up, their eyes meeting as Ian stepped off of the elevator. He didn’t say anything in response, didn’t take the heavy bag off of his shoulder - didn’t do anything other than walk over to him and pull him by his belt loops, greeting him with a deep kiss. The answer was a surprised hum, but pretty soon he was rewarded with a hand on the back of his neck, and a tongue swiping across his top lip. “You miss me or something?” Mickey asked with a quirked brow when they parted; the smile on his face caused a warmth to grow within Ian’s stomach. 

“Not at all,” Ian shook his head, but the joking atmosphere was quickly cut short by the two unable to keep themselves from sharing a few more kisses before they finally pulled away long enough for Ian to unlock his front door. 

__________

  
It turns out not even the passion of the honeymoon stage in a new relationship can salvage sex in a swimming pool - there are too many sharp corners of tile, it’s slippery, and it’s cold. 

“Man, you got a - fuck, stop,” Mickey cursed, knuckles turning white around the edge of the pool. At the request, Ian immediately pulled out, placing a hand against Mickey’s shoulder to help him turn around. 

“You okay?” 

“Fine, man, but this ain’t working - you got a whirlpool bath in your place, why the fuck are we down here?” 

“Yeah, it’s better in theory,” Ian sighed, looking around the empty pool area. It was expansive, and luxurious, but sex was not turning out to be the right activity. “You’d rather be bent over upstairs?” He asked, then, his voice dropping slightly as he brought his face closer to Mickey’s. “Bet I could put you right in front of the jets.” 

“Fuck, let’s go,” Mickey groaned, and the two got out of the water, quickly pulling their shorts on before grabbing the towels and heading upstairs. 

It took a minute or two for Ian’s large, corner bathtub to fill up, but Mickey made good use of that time on his knees. Ian sighed, one of his hands clenched around the edge of the counter behind him as he looked down into Mickey’s eyes, his breaths quickly becoming shorter. 

“You look so fucking good, shit,” Ian couldn’t help but breathe, running his hands through the dark strands on top of his head. “You’re gonna have to stop, Mick, fuck.” Mickey teased him by deep throating him one last time, but then he pulled off, and Ian tugged him to his feet, stealing a few, deep and intent kisses before they both moved into the warm water. 

The bathtub turned out to be a much better idea than the pool; not only were they warm, with even more privacy, but the way that the tub was shaped was perfect. Mickey could bend over and hold onto the rounded edge, while Ian was on his knees behind him, at the perfect angle to grab his hips and pull him back onto his dick until the most wonderful noises escaped his throat. 

After two rounds in the bathtub, and ironically a bonus in the shower in order to wash off, they were both exhausted, and collapsed in the middle of Ian’s large bed. It didn’t take very long until there were soft, slight snores leaving Mickey’s nose, and Ian looked over. His fingers twitched with the need to run a hand through the damp, dark hair, but he didn’t want to wake him. 

He was so fucking beautiful. Better than anyone Ian had ever known. 

__________

It went on like that for a few weeks - Ian would leave New York for a few days - sometimes to do shows, sometimes to meet with some of the editors for the special. Though it was still new, his and Mickey’s relationship continued to go surprisingly well, despite everything - it was incredibly good. Not just the sexual part, but they were becoming closer and closer as friends, as well.

He could tell that his siblings were worried about him - not because he was dating Mickey, but because he was dating, period. And because he was dating someone that he liked this much; but that didn’t mean that they weren’t happy for him, because he could tell that they were. 

Sometimes it hit Ian that he was truly dating his best friend, and he had to convince himself that it was real, and that it wouldn’t collapse beneath his feet. For the first time in… forever - New York felt like home to him - or at least his home away from home. Each time that he would come back from out of town, Mickey was the first person that he wanted to see - whether they got lunch, or went straight to fucking didn’t matter that much. Maybe Ian’s feelings were too powerful, considering it had only been about a month and a half since the first time they had hooked up, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t fight that voice in the back of his head telling him that this was it, that this was what he wanted, what he had been looking for. 


	10. nine

“I don’t know how anyone does that shit, man. Couldn’t be me,” Mickey commented one late morning. He was laid back in the middle of his make-shift bed, a cigarette trapped in between his lips as he struggled to light it, thanks to the breeze of the open window behind him. When he finally breathed the smoke in, he threw the lighter aside, and let his other hand go back to it’s previous task. 

The fingers combed through the soft, red strands in between his legs, laying them backwards, the last few of them tickling his lower abdomen with the movement before he went back to Ian’s forehead, running his fingers through them again. 

Ian gave him a questioning hum; his body felt heavy against Mickey’s where he laid in between his legs; Mickey could see his eyes were falling closed, though his face carried a look only comparable to contentment; he was blissed out. Mickey took another hit of the cigarette, staying quiet for a moment as he watched him; he had done that to him. Mickey had done that to Ian. The tall, charming, model-looking, gangly motherfucker was happy because of Mickey. 

“The traveling shit,” Mickey finally replied, at least a full twenty seconds later when his brain caught up; he stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray next to them, leaving both of his hands free to play with Ian’s hair. He got a satisfied hum in response.

A few minutes ago, Ian had been talking about the different places he had traveled - specifically while doing shows. He didn’t do it in a conceited way, the way that most people spoke about their travels - rather he did it in a… casual way? He was aware of how lucky he was to be able to travel to different places in the world - even just within the united states, considering how they had grown up. 

“Know you’re a celebrity and all that,” he continued, earning himself a slap on the thigh; Mickey grew a grin as he watched the red brows furrow, eyes never opening. Then he seemed to relax again, leaning against Mickey as if it were the easiest thing that he had ever done. “Gotta go places, but I don’t know I could ever do that. Gotta have a home base.” 

“I have a home base,” Ian protested softly, still never opening his eyes. Mickey tried to ignore the way that Ian had squeezed his calf when speaking the words. The loft. New York. He meant the loft and he meant New York. 

“Home base ain’t a home base if you gotta fuck off every two weeks,” Mickey sighed - not a frustrated sigh, but rather a sigh of content. He leaned back against the pillows propped up behind him, appreciating the soft feeling of the hair in between his fingers. 

“Not true,” Ian protested once again. “If you have something that makes you feel safe, and at home, you got a home base,” he cleared his throat, finally opening his eyes, and turning around, his palms soft on Mickey’s lower stomach, as he looked up at him, leaning his cheek against the back of his own hands. “Doesn’t matter how long you’re gone.” 

Mickey hummed. 

“So what is it?” Ian’s question caused Mickey’s eyebrows to inch closer together. “Your home base,” he clarified. “New York?” 

“Hell no, man,” Mickey immediately shook his head. Then he changed his mind. “I guess it is. My kid’s here.” 

“Yev’s your home base,” Ian suggested softly. Mickey looked down at him, shrugging. If a home base could be a person, then of course Yevgeny was Mickey’s. Maybe he wouldn’t be forever - maybe when he grew up, and Mickey could trust that he could fend for himself, then that would shift. He would never love him any less, but perhaps he could let go a little bit. For now - knowing where Yevgeny was, knowing that he was safe, and happy - that made Mickey feel safe, and happy. 

“Guess so.” Ian hummed at that. “If a person can be a home base.” 

“‘Course they can,” Ian immediately assured him. 

“You sound pretty sure of that,” Mickey raised his eyebrows. “You got one?” He questioned, bringing one of his hands back to Ian’s hair, using his fingers to comb it backwards. 

At the question, something changed in Ian’s eyes - darkened. His face slipped into the slightest hint of a smirk before he moved his hands to Mickey’s hips, and lowered his face to his stomach, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to the pale flesh, right below his belly button. It was the kind of kiss that shouldn’t have made Mickey’s dick twitch - especially after the hours of work it had put in this morning - but it moved against his thigh anyway. 

“Maybe.” Ian’s answer was muffled by Mickey’s skin - not that Mickey was listening anymore. He continued running his fingers through the red hair as he let his neck relax against the pillows, eyes slipping closed, revelling in the feeling of those soft kisses being scattered across his hips and lower stomach, slowly growing deeper and longer. 

Soon Mickey felt the large hands move from his hips, instead wrapping around his inner thighs, urning him to spread his legs. He found himself doing so without a second thought, without opening his eyes. 

The kisses were now accompanied by the warm feeling of Ian’s tongue, drawing smooth circles in various places of his inner thighs, as his lips drew the blood to the surface, bruising the skin. Mickey should have cared - should have smacked him over the head for trying to mark him up, but he couldn’t do it. In fact, Ian scratched his teeth across the sensitive flesh, and Mickey only found himself letting out a gasp. That was what Ian turned him into - open, vulnerable. All he did was continue to run his hands through his hair, until Ian finally pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the base of his cock, and he wrapped his hands around the strands, urging him on. 

Mickey caught his bottom lip in between his teeth as he felt the warm pressure along the vein at the bottom of his shaft, coming to a, his lips resting against the tip. 

“That what you want?” Mickey bucked his hips, chasing the hot breaths fanning across him, teasing him. His hand tightened around the red strands, and he found himself nodding, frantically. Ian hummed, and before Mickey knew it, he threw his head back into the pillows, a reflex response to the way that Ian wrapped his lips around his cock, taking him nearly all the way down without warning. 

Slowly, he made his way back up, focusing his tongue on the tip, barely bobbing his head as he took one of his hands from Mickey’s thigh, using it to jerk him off simultaneously. 

Mickey should be used to this by now - the way that every single thing that Ian did just completely seemed to yank his breath out of his throat - whether they were naked or not. But he wasn’t used to it; and the truth was that he didn’t want to get used to it, either. Never before had he quite experienced a feeling like this one; he was completely letting go - letting go of everything, letting his mind go blank as he savoured the feeling. The feeling of Ian taking care of him; the way that his free hand stayed on his thigh, his thumb rubbing smooth, calming circles against the skin. 

Mickey had been fucked before - Ian was not the first one to make his eyes roll to the back of his head, or to drain him in the best way. But those people had been friends with benefits, at best. It was a completely different sensation to have someone like Ian do this to him. Someone that he liked this much. 

Ian wasn’t blowing him because he was repaying a favour, or because he was passing the time. Ian was blowing Mickey because he wanted Mickey to feel good; just like Mickey wanted Ian to feel good when he was the one doing it. Because they cared about each other and shit. 

If that mushy thought was the one that helped Mickey tighten his grip on Ian’s hair, and shoot his come down his throat, then that was no one’s business but his own. 

Afterwards, Ian manoeuvred himself around Mickey’s bed, until he laid back against the pillows, and could put a hand into his shoulder, urging him to lay back against his chest. Mickey obeyed without a question, laying diagonally across the mattress; when Ian begun dancing the long, freckled fingers through his hair, Mickey finally understood why Ian had been so into it. He grew tired immediately, feeling a hum slip its way out through his nose. 

“You good?” Ian asked, voice slightly hoarse. 

“Fuck yeah,” Mickey sighed, the tone of the words nearly one of disbelief. How the hell could he not be good right now? 

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Comfortable, content silence. By the time Ian broke it, Mickey was half asleep, thanks to the hand in his hair. 

“You know you could come with me,” he said, as if it was nothing. “Sometimes, at least. If you want.” 

“With you?” Mickey asked, keeping his eyes closed. “Where, man?” Ian cleared his throat weakly, and Mickey felt the movements of him adjusting the pillows behind his head. 

“Wherever. Whenever I’m going places.”

“Got a job, man,” Mickey stated, still blissed out, half asleep. Barely registering either half of the conversation. “Can’t all be famous comedians.” 

“Yeah… but you’re dating one,” Ian continued, and slowly but surely, Mickey begun to realise that this was a conversation that required him to open his eyes; though he didn’t turn around. Not yet. “Could, I don’t know… go down to half time. Part time. I’ll fill in the difference.” 

Mickey batted Ian’s hand away from his hair, and sat up, frowning as he looked at the other man, and the way he was seemingly waiting for a very real answer. Was he joking? Was this his comedy? Maybe Mickey should have watched some of it. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You saying I should quit my job? For you?” Ian rolled his eyes. 

“Of course not - not quit - just…” Ian sighed, pausing to run a hand through his own hair, seemingly frustrated. 

“Good,” Mickey said, as much venom in his voice as he could muster. “‘Cause I sure as hell ain’t pissing off my boss ‘cause I wanna go travel the country with your ass, like we’re in love, or married - hell, even with a ring on my finger, I wouldn’t do that shit. I got a kid.” 

“It wouldn’t be all the time,” Ian pushed himself until he sat up straighter, crossing his legs. “A couple weeks, here and there. Yevgeny can come, and you won’t miss out on the money from the auto shop, I’ll - “

“I don’t want your fucking money,” Mickey found himself raising his voice, his head shaking a few times as he frowned. Did Ian not understand him at all? Working to support himself, and his kid was about more than just those two things. It was about his self-esteem, the life he had built for himself. His independence. 

“Can we just talk about it?” Ian tried again. Mickey shook his head, standing up, and searching the floor until he found his own sweatpants, pulling them up his legs. Then he threw Ian’s jeans onto the bed. “Mickey - I, just - I miss you, you know?” Ian tried, standing up as well - and pulling his jeans on, probably only to make sure that he wouldn’t piss Mickey off further. “When I’m doing shows, I miss you - I didn’t used to mind it, ‘cause I never had anyone to miss here in New York, but I - “

“Get dressed, get out,” Mickey threw Ian’s shirt at him, refusing to look up into his eyes. Instead he looked down onto the floor, pretending to search for something among their shed clothes - Mickey’s shed clothes, because he had already found all of Ian’s. 

“Can we just talk for a se-“ Ian tried, but Mickey shoved him out of his bedroom, and through the apartment, until they reached the front door. “Mickey, I didn’t mean it that - “

“No, you did mean it that way,” Mickey finally snapped, satisfied to see Ian flinch. “Look, I know you think you’re all down to earth and shit now, ‘cause you grew up the way we did - but you got a real comfortable life now. And that’s good for you, ‘cause you worked for that, but I didn’t work for it, so I don’t want it.” 

Mickey took a pause, crossing his arms as he watched Ian stand there, silent, leaning against his front door. 

“My kid’s my home base, man,” he shrugged, voice softer now. “That’s what I worked for. A better life for him, and that’s what I got, and that’s what I gotta keep working for - and I want that. I don’t wanna go back and forth - planes, and hotel rooms, and events - that’s not me. So if you want a dude you can bring with you, you want someone on your arm who’s gonna take your money, or drop his responsibilities to go with you wherever you gotta go - Gallagher…” Mickey took a beat, lips still parted before he shrugged, closing them. “It ain’t me.” 

Ian blinked at him, the whites of his eyes increasing in shine. 

“But… Mickey - “

“Go, man,” Mickey shook his head, opening the front door, and placing his hand on his shoulder, urging him out into the hallway. “Go.”

__________

“Is Ian coming over?”

“No.” Mickey’s response to his son’s question was short, stern, and he immediately regretted it. Right after the word left his mouth, he sighed, placing his palm against the counter of the small kitchen island, taking a second to breathe. “No. He might not be coming over for a while, bud,” he clarified in a softer tone, looking up at his son, who was sitting on one of the barstools, homework in front of him. 

“How long? Is he doing shows again?” 

Mickey sighed - he shouldn’t have lied. Instead of saying ‘a while’ he should have said ‘anymore’ and gotten rid of the ‘might’ because the reality was that it was over. It was just that the last thing he wanted to do was to make his son feel like shit when he already felt like it, himself. 

“Uh, no, he’s in town,” Mickey settled on, looking back down at the tupperware containers in front of him, continuing to divide the leftovers up for Yevgeny to take to school in the coming days. Mickey knew that he shouldn’t have introduced Ian to Yevgeny so fast - of course they already knew each other, but he shouldn’t have said yes when Yevgeny had asked if they were dating - but at the time, Ian’s hair had been all messed up from falling asleep during a movie, and he was looking at Mickey with those green eyes, shrugging, and next to Yevgeny’s puppy eyes, Mickey hadn’t had a choice - he had said yes. And now he had to deal with the consequences. God damn it. 

“Do you not like Ian anymore?” Yevgeny asked, and Mickey bit his tongue to keep from saying something he would regret. He was not upset with his son - he had to remember that. He was upset with Ian, and maybe slightly upset with himself for getting so invested in such a short amount of time. 

“No,” Mickey lied through his teeth. If an adult had asked him, perhaps he would have given a more complicated answer, but he didn’t want to confuse the nine year-old. He was bright, but he was still a child. 

“Why not?” Mickey sighed to himself, letting his eyes fall closed for a beat before he opened them. 

“You need help?” He nodded towards the sheet of paper in front of Yevgeny. Yevgeny shook his head. “Then there’s no reason for you to be talking right now. Finish it,” he demanded, placing the lid onto the last container, and turning around to put them into the fridge. 

__________

“You and comedian are no more. Zhenya told me.” 

“Jesus fuck,” Mickey cursed, handing Yevgeny’s pyjamas over to Svetlana. He should have known that it was a ploy for her to get information - the kid had a million pyjama sets. It had been nearly three weeks since the split, and the last thing he wanted to do was spend time thinking about it. Especially since the special was premiering in a couple weeks, and he would inevitably hear about the guy non-stop. 

“You are less fun to be around again. Miss his dick?” 

“You ain’t my therapist, you ain’t my friend, and I sure as hell ain’t talking to you about my ex’s dick.” Suits him right, though, for screwing and knocking up a Russian chick. Even seventeen year old Mickey should have known better than that. 

“Cut that, Mikhailo. I am best friend, we both know this. Who else do you talk to, hm?” Mickey crossed his arms, staring her down. “Okay. You are not ready,” she gave up for the time being - after a full minute of silence. “But comedian made you happy. We are all allowed to be happy, yes?” 

“Yeah, the door’s right there,” Mickey pointed, and she mumbled something in Russian before finally leaving him alone. Fuck her for knowing exactly what to say in order to plant a seed inside of his brain. Fuck himself for not being strong enough to fight it. 


	11. ten

“Your shoulders are tense. You nervous?” Ian sighed, trying to relax, before nodding. Fiona looked up at him as if she was trying to solve some kind of mystery, and then she went back to tying the black tie around his neck, adjusting it before stepping back. 

“No reason to be,” she promised. “It’s gonna be great. You’re so talented, Ian.” He nodded. Usually, he would crack some kind of joke about how he already knew that, or how she’s lucky that she has a talented brother, because no one else in their family is doing anything with their lives - but today he was struggling. The clock was ticking deeper into the afternoon; they all had to be at the premiere in an hour - within two hours, he would know exactly how he had succeeded - or failed. 

“You look good,” Lip came up from behind him, roughing up his hair; Ian grunted in annoyance, and Fiona dropped a few curse words Lip’s way before she helped Ian move the strands back into place. 

“We ready to go?” Debbie came out from the guest bathroom with Liam and Franny in tow. Ian looked around. His entire family was here - well, Carl had gone outside to smoke a cigarette, and Tami was walking Freddie around the block to get him to go to sleep, but that wasn’t the point. They were all here, in New York, supporting him. The feeling brought a warmth to his stomach. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

__________

The first part of any premiere is not the nerve-wracking part - the carpet is a lot of the same each time - except this time, of course, Ian had a group of eight to thirteen year olds to pose with, which made it a little bit less tense, and more fun. 

Some of the kids answered questions, and he did as well - same with Alexa, and the other people that had had their hands on this project. Before long, it was time to enter the theatre, and Ian was split from his family and the kids, and pulled backstage. 

A microphone was pushed into his hand, and then he was motioned out in front of the crowd. 

“Hello,” he greeted, finally feeling more confident and comfortable, now that he was in his element - a microphone and a crowd. “My name is Ian Gallagher. About a year and a half ago, I went to some of the lovely people that I have worked with in the past, and I said ‘ _I want to do a children’s musical comedy special_ ’ and they said ‘ _Do you have kids?_ ’ and I said ‘ _Uh… no_ ’ and they said ‘ _Do you have any musical ability whatsoever?_ ’ and I said ‘ _No_ ’ and they said ‘ _Goodbye._ ’” Ian lowered the microphone, taking a beat for the crowd’s laughter to fade. “They kicked me out,” he continued. “But my lovely agent Alexa - who is also the director for this project, she said ‘ _Hold on a minute… tell me more_ ’ and I explained the nostalgia that I have for the older children’s shows that were on tv when I was growing up, and I said that I wanted to do something like that. With the help of a lovely crew, and fifteen incredibly talented kids - we did it. What you are about to see is a children’s comedy special - _Ian Gallagher and the Latchkey Kids_. Enjoy.” 

__________

Ian was happy - of course he was - although no reviews were out yet, the theatre had been roaring with laughter, and sounds of approval throughout the entire hour-long special. Hundreds of people had come up to him to congratulate and praise the work - it was over. In a good way - the nervousness, and the tension in his shoulders, and headaches - it was over. They had created something good - perhaps even something great. 

But as much as he was smiling, thanking people - a part of him just… wasn’t there. 

“You okay?” Lip came up to him, a bottle of non-alcoholic beer in his hand. Ian nodded. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good, thanks.” 

“Don’t look it. Mickey?” Ian rolled his eyes - not so much at the question, but more so at himself, and the true answer. This was one of the biggest nights of his life, worrying about an ex was the last thing he should be doing. 

“Part of me thought he’d be here, I guess,” he admitted. Mickey wasn’t the only parent who didn’t come to the premiere - and he knew a lot of them didn’t have a choice but to work - Svetlana was here, he had greeted her briefly - so it wasn’t as if Yevgeny was on his own - Ian had just… assumed. Not that he was self-centred enough to believe that Mickey’s going to, or avoiding the premiere had anything to do with Ian himself, but he had hoped that he would be able to go, just so that Ian could see him. Just for a second. “Fuck, I can’t really breathe,” Ian swallowed, tugging at his shirt-collar, looking around the dim venue. “I think I’m just… gonna head out, I might be back, I just…” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lip nodded. Ian knew it was bad form, but he couldn’t help it. This place was too warm. “Call one of us later, okay? Let us know you’re all good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ian promised. 

__________

The soundstage was the only place that had seemed like a good place to go - it was cold, empty, big - he didn’t have to squint at the sun, or worry about people recognising him. Ian sighed, staring at the fake facade in front of him, as he leaned his head back against the door that couldn’t be opened. 

The special seemed to be getting a good response. People liked it. Ian’s career was going great, his family was doing amazing, yet he felt as if he was missing something. Was his life this? Was his life this street? Something that looked good from the outside, but wasn’t functional, or sustainable in any way? 

“They ain’t take this shit down yet?” 

Ian snapped his head, his eyes quickly finding the source - Mickey - at the end of the fake street, looking too big next to the child-sized shop windows. He was still dressed in the overalls from the auto shop, and a part of Ian wondered if he had ever looked so good before. 

“Uh… they put it back up for a press shoot,” Ian managed, slowly standing up, fighting the urge to walk closer. He watched Mickey ball his fists before letting them relax, bringing his thumb to his lip. “What are you doing here?” He hoped he didn’t sound rude - or hopeful - but the reality was that if Mickey wasn’t here to kiss and make up, Ian would prefer not to see him. It was too difficult. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten so attached in such a short amount of time, but there was nothing he could do about it now. “Did you know I was here?” 

“Uh… your brother called me. Only ‘cause I… fuck, might have called your sister when you didn’t pick up.” Mickey took a few steps closer, and Ian allowed himself the two to get away from the steps, but only slightly closer to the other man. “Look, man - miss you, alright?” He spit the words, but shrugged as if they were nothing. “You’re a fucking piece of shit, and I miss you,” he sighed. “Shouldn’t have blown up. Sorry.” 

Ian took a second to process the words. And then he took another second to walk the five steps over to Mickey, catching his lips in between his own, drinking in the familiar feeling, the relief, and contentedness that it brought him to feel that again. To feel that chin against the pad of his thumbs, the hand on the back of his neck; the scent of nicotine and faint motor oil. 

“So we’re clear, I ain’t saying you were right, ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t quitting my - “

“No, you’re not, I was wrong, I was wrong, you’re not quitting, kiss me,” Ian mumbled, the last words muffled by Mickey’s mouth as they let themselves relax; fall into the warmth of each other.

__________

While Ian’s siblings were still at the afterparty, Ian and Mickey took the time to sneak back to Ian’s loft - mostly so that Mickey could wash up after work, but it also gave them a chance to go a couple rounds before meeting up with the others at a diner down the street. 

It was one of the oddest feelings that Ian had ever experienced - sitting in that booth with all of his siblings, his niece and his nephew, Tami, Yevgeny, Mickey - and even Svetlana - there was no awkwardness, no sharp air - it was easy, good, and warm. 

A soft elbow to his side brought Ian’s attention to Mickey, and he looked over to meet his eyes. 

“You good, man?” He asked when Ian leaned closer to hear the words meant for his ears only. “Look lost.” Ian shook his head, secretly placing his hand over Mickey’s knee beneath the table. 

“I was just thinking I’m really happy,” he admitted, the rest of the table still chattering happily, unaware of the gentle conversation between the two. Mickey raised his eyebrows, but let his mouth pull up into a slight smile. 

“Yeah?” Ian nodded. 

“Soft piece of shit,” Mickey grumbled, and Ian let a sigh of amusement escape his nose as he leaned over to press his lips against his cheek. “I’m happy, too,” Mickey admitted, and Ian grinned, squeezing his knee before tuning the ongoing conversation back in. 

Yeah. Yeah, this was good. This was family. 


	12. epilogue

“Now…” Ian said, looking out across the large crowd, barely able to see anyone’s face from the heavily lit stage. “…I’ve been making fun of my husband a lot tonight, and I just want to make sure that everyone knows - I’m allowed to make fun of my husband. See, I asked him… and he said yes,” Ian shrugged. “It went something like this. I said ‘ _Hey, we’ve been married for three and a half years_ ’ - and he knew that - so I said ‘ _Is it okay if I make fun of you on stage?_ ’ and he goes…” Ian pulled the small stool closer to him, and sat on it, before raising his eyebrows, and using his thumb to scratch at his temple. “‘ _Whatever, man… make fun of me… but just… don’t fucking say that I’m an asshole and that you don’t like me, or some stupid shit._ ’” 

Ian stood up, clearly leaving his impression of his husband behind, as he made a face at the crowd, expressing his surprise. 

“Yeah, see? That was my reaction, too,” Ian nodded at the crowd’s raised eyebrows and confused laughter. “The bar is so much lower… Than I ever… Also, what kind of show would that even be? ‘ _Hello! I got married! He’s an asshole, and I don’t like him!_ ’ That’s some straight bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.” Ian shook his head. “And… and listen…” he continued, after letting the crowd laugh for a beat. “I would never… ever say that. I would never say that my husband is an asshole and I don’t like him, because that is not true,” Ian stated. “My husband is an asshole, and I like him. So. Much.”

Ian kept as much of a straight face as he could; as the concert hall roared with laughter, he took a few seconds to look down to the front row, meeting eyes with each of his siblings, Tami, Yevgeny, before finally landing on Mickey, where he sat, bouncing their one-year-old on his lap. He flipped Ian off, and Ian responded by mouthing three words before looking back to the crowd. 

“Goodnight, Chicago!”


End file.
